A YEAR AT HARTLERURY
Is quaintly ascribed, by the titlepage, to "Cherry and Fair Star." The advertisement informs us that it is the production of "two made one;" the first child of a happy union, and conceived imme- diately after the honey-moon. The disconnected nature of the story supports this statement, but there is very little in the execu- tion to confirm it; the plot seems the work of two, but the writing of one.
A Year at Hartlebury is a succession of scenes descriptive of nature and provincial life. Excepting the "impenetrable mys- tery which envelops the unfortunate and brilliant Bohm)," and some of the interviews between him and George Gainsboraugh, the incidents might all have been actual occurrences; but they have little connexion with one another ; they are strung together rather loosely ; and the conclusion, if conclusion it can be called, is most lame R ld impotent. Nor does the workmanship altogether redeem the indifferent nature of the materials. It is respectable, at times aery much more than respectable; but the want of in- terest arising from a well-developed story is not made up for by those felicities of composition N;21ich sometimes, in other ,works, give interest to a succession of nearri is°Iated scenes. Faintness, perhaps, is the best definition of the gene;il effect; there is truth
of outline aud of colouring, but strength of tour::: is required.
consider-
Yet though the performance is scant, the prom's" IS able. The failure has arisen from want of experience in author- craft; perhaps also from looking at matters too much with Ilia t'e of a provincial. The writer (we use the singular for the execu- tion, in despite of the titlepage) has an eye to perceive the beauties of nature, and some powers of description. Ile has also a quick perception at' character, and a capability of developing it. 13...ting the "mystery," Young Gainsborough is an original in books ; well-conceived, and frequently well brought out. The manner in which the fourth-rate beau impresses the third-rate belle, at the election.ball, with a respect for his standing, by boasting of his travels, sneering at the commonplace life of England, and talking of a " return to Greece," is true to life. Two vulgarians have met together, and the most impudent carries the day. Lord Courtland, the electioneering Peer, is a clever sketch. Dr. Max- well, the pompous, sycophantic parson, is more than clever.
We have spoken of the author's descriptive power. Here is a little bit, not inappropriate to the season.
It was one of those mornings, towards the close of :Vetch, that gives us the first indication that winter is leaving us, and that the beautiful spring is about again to gladden the earth. The trees were yet leafless, but every branch was covered with bursting buds. The air was mild and soft ; and as our companions pur- sued their way by the banks of the river, they allowed their horses to drop into a walk as they gazed on the changes which the last day or two had produced. The meadows looked green with the springing grass, and the daisies were ap • peering ; and in the hedges, on the hazel and the nut, the long pendant blossom had opened by the side of its delicate pink companion, and the dark foliage of the yew was effiivened by its ivory &wets. And in every sheltered spot patches of snowdrops and tufts of primroses were seen.
AN ANXIOUS HOSTESS.
The general conversation was not very remarkable. Mrs. Gainsborougb only
talked to her servams in an agitated and audible whisper. Her anxious eye glanced in all directions, detected everybody's wants, anti anticipated every.- body's necessities. " Graham, soup to Miss Molesworth—Graham, Mrs. Lati- mer s phtte—here—there—no—yes—Spoon—knives—remove the side dishes— hand the vegetables. Where's Brown ?—nobody should go out of the room. !lave I not always told you, if anybody wants any thing, ring the bell ? Never mind Or. Maxwell ; Mr. Arthur Latimer has been waiting this quarter of an hour. Very wrong, very provoking. Yss are too kind, Mr. Boscawen, I al- ways carve myself ; I cannot say I admire the modern fashion of troubling one's guests. With great pleasure, Mr. Molesworth ; Sherry, if you please—perhaps you will take Champaigne? Graham, Champaigne to Mr. MolesWorth—( the servant muttered a disseut)—never mind Mr. Geutge; bring the Champat.ne directly.
A BOROUGH UNDER THE OLD REGIME.
For many years the borough of Fanchester had been represented by two wealthy and respectable individuals, who seldom appeared among their consti- tuents. They came to be chaired at etch election ; and every now and then, when they were travelling that road, they spent the morning in calling on their friends, Every year each sent a buck ; and every year one of them, who con- sidered himself an orator, and was fond of spouting after dinner, banqueted with the Corporation : the other, who was more silent and diffident, sent an addis tional present of rich fruits from his hot-houses. The flattering speeches and the rich fruits balanced the affair; both were equally popular. One was a Tory, the other a Whig; but, side hy side, they bowed in amity to their con- stituents, and nothing would have disturbed their friendship but the overturning Reform Bill.
Cherry, at all events, is a rampant Tory. Here is his notion of the Whigs—more sharp than civil.
The oligarchy of the High Street were in general Whigs. Fanchester boasted of several considerable manufactoi ies. Their masters sleek sectarians of all denominations, who under the pretence of Anti-Slavery meetings, Bible So- cieties, and missions " to the heathen," were in fact always sapping the founda- tions of that church which was the only barrier against their barbarizing creeds and customs again i llll miming the land, were all, of course, supporters of the present Atiministiation, and full of what they called, " gratitude " to Lord Grey. This clique, though not numerous, was very powerful. Marty a mortgage did they hold on the property of their less prosperous fellow-townsmen ; many a small sum, at hard interest and short dates, were they in the habit of lending to the industrious without capital. This clique hated Mr. Bohun. They bated him because he was a gentleman ; they hated him because he had not a snub. nose, because he was suspiciously curious in his linen, because his coat was not cut after their fashion, and because he rode thoroughbred horses: they hated him because he was always courteous to those over whom they tyrannized. No tyrants in the world like the sectarian oligarchy of a country town ! A high
Whig is at least grand in his haughtiness. He is a tyrant, but a tyrant on a great scale. Ile loves a Coercion bill; he cares not how many intents may be sacrificed to the bloody Moloch of manufacturing industry ; but then he can talk of the Bill of Rights, and advocate the immediate emancipation of the Niggers. But a low Whig is the least human of all the combinations of human matter—for soul we cannot concede to those wretches with contracted minds and cold hearts. If ever a revolution come round in this once happy country, we may trace all our misery to the influence of the low Whigs. These are the real causes of Manchester massacres, though they are always abusing the magistracy.; these are the men who, though they think they are only snuffing the candle m their own miserable hard- hearted parlours, are in fact lighting the torch of every incendiary in the kingdom. How the low Whigs did hate Mr. Bohun ! They hated him with that intense predisposition of enmity, which cold. blooded, cal- culating, unsympathetic, selfish mortals always innately feel for a man of genius, a man whose generous and lively spirit ainews makes them ashamed of their dead, dunghill like, existence. The reader may think, as we have thou1it on reading the ex- tracts connectedly, that the specimens do not jostifY the earitious opinion pronounced. It may be so, but we have recorded our first impressions; and let it also be remembered, that a brick is no cisive sample of a house.
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