endure. His eagerness never betrays him into confusion, nor his quickness into bustle. Rapido sì, ma rapido con legge." He appears to take a personal interest in every lady's choice; he would not for worlds precipitate the important decision; but affords her ample time to reflect upon the comparative merits of the articles he displays, merits which he has previously stated with great clearness and most amiable impartiality. No caprice disgusts him, no delay wearies him, every shade of every colour, every quality, every texture is cheerfully exhibited, and when the important choice is at length made, when the lady has changed her mind till she is tired of her own indecision, and the decisive snip has precluded further vacillation, he then never fails to stamp her taste with his own humble approval. If not the prettiest, it is the newest, or the cheapest, or the most durable article in the shop, and altogether he may venture to congratulate the purchaser upon her choice. His manner and language, too, are either respectful or familiar, as may best suit the rank or the taste of his customer. To the real gentlewoman he is all deference and humility, says little, and bows often. With her who is lower in mind than in station, and to whose coarse vanity the admiring eye of a shopman can minister, he changes his tone, speaks more familiarly, smiles often, peeps under the bonnet, and appears very much disposed to flirt, and to compliment-" Every one may not. venture to wear green, Madam, but with your complexion." Apparently, a fear of offending stops the flattering sentence. There is yet another class of purchasers with whom he is on still more easy terms; he calls them "my dear," hopes their sweetheart is well, advises them to trim their bonnet with love, and begs they will purchase their wedding-gown of him. How happy is a man of this description compared with the unfortunate wight who is tied to a business for which he has no taste, and to whom every difficulty seems formidable, every inconvenience a distress. I received a short time since a letter from an old female-servant of my father, who, after residing many years in our family as cook and housekeeper, was induced, on receiving a legacy of four hundred pounds, to set up a circulating library in a village not far from London. Her own inclinations had been decidedly directed towards the business of a pastry-cook, but some of her acquaintance persuaded her that the occupation of a librarian was much more genteel, and, in an evil hour, as appears from the following letter, she yielded to their advice, and exchanged comfort for consequence. HONOURED SIR, I was very thankful for your kind enquiries after me. I hope my master's gout is better, and that you and the rest of the family are well. I saw Miss Maria's marriage in the papers, and hope she will be very happy. How I wish I had dressed the wedding-dinner! I have been in business more than a twelvemonth, and I think it will answer very well, that is, if I should live to enjoy my money; but I am so worn and worried by the fatigues of my present life, that I fear I cannot keep up much longer. People talk of the labour of dressing a dinner of three courses in the dog-days, but, Sir, it's no more to be compared with what I go through every day of my life, and get no credit neither, nor no thanks for my pains. How I wish I had set up as a pastry-cook, for every body agrees about what is good in soups, and mince pies, but no two people think alike with respect to my books. 6 66 "Oh, Mrs. Smith," says Miss Thompson to me, you positively must get Melmoth' immediately; I am dying to read it; I hear it is the sweetest thing ever written, quite worthy of the author of Bertram : and how is it you have not got the Life of a Lover?' you must order that too, I always read it once a twelvemonth." Well, I got the books as soon as possible, and then half my customers abused me for having such trash in my shop; and one lady, to whom I sent Melmoth, was quite provoked with me, and said this sweet book had made her sick. Then a gentleman told me he would withdraw his subscription if I did not get The Monk;' so I bought it immediately, and soon afterwards a very respectable lady sent for a book to amuse one of her daughters, who was recovering from the measles; and, thinking no harm, I sent her The Monk;' and behold it was returned instantly with an angry message, and not one of the family has been in my shop since. One person says to me, 'How can you take in that stupid Quarterly Review?' another, I am ashamed, Mrs. Smith, to find that you buy that jacobinical Edinburgh;' some insist on my having 'The Evangelical Magazine;' and then others call me a Methodist, and bid me get The Christian Observer.' One grave gentleman pesters me to buy all Jortin's Works; another wants me to give fifty or sixty guineas for Dr. Rees's Cyclopædia;' and the young ladies are always teizing me about poetry, and finding out the names of a dozen first-rate poems, which come out every month. And when I mention them to my bookseller in London, ten to one if he has ever heard of one of them. However, sometimes I am fortunate enough to pick them up cheap; indeed, one young lady always recommends books that may be bought in two months after their publication at the price of waste paper, but then nobody else ever asks for them. Above all, how I am worried by my customers to let them have the new books soon, especially when dear Lord Byron (as the ladies call him) has published any thing. The Giaour,'-' The Corsair,' and 'Manfred,' are the chief favourites: Child Harold' is not so much liked; and this new play, with the strange name, has disappointed a great many of my subscribers. Some ladies, who are very fond of Lady Morgan's works, and, to use their own expression, “positively dote" upon The Novice of St. Dominique,' and The Missionary,' think Lord Byron's new Heroine "a most insipid, milk-and-water piece of business," and are quite provoked with him for putting no love into his book. Then others admire what the first disapprove; the matrons are pleased that Lord Byron can draw the character of a modest woman, and some gentlemen say that Angiolina is the only heroine in his lordship's poems whom a rational Englishman would like for his wife. I was obliged to get Don Juan' to please the gentlemen; some ladies shook their heads when they saw it in my window, while others bribed me to send it to them secretly, wrapped up in paper, and carefully sealed. However, I think I could go on pretty well, without being teazed and fretted into a nervous fever, if it were not for these horrible Novels, written by some Scotchman, heaven only knows who, for there is always a different story about it. I believe the devil himself must be their author, for nobody else could write them so fast. No words can express how I dread their coming out; I have no peace of my life for three months before, and as many after their publication, and I am so baited, and scolded, and abused. "What! Mrs. Smith, not got 'Kenilworth' yet, why it's really too bad." "Ma'am, it's not out yet." "Not out! it has been advertised these six months; you're always behind every body." Ma'am, the very moment it is out of the printer's hands, it will be sent to me. I have dispatched five messengers about it since last Monday." "Then you 'll let me have it as soon as it arrives." "I am very sorry, Madam, but that's quite impossible; there are others before you on the list." "Before me, Mrs. Smith! Why, my name has been down these six weeks." 66 Very true, Ma'am ; but there were three-and-twenty ladies before you." "Three-and-twenty! it is false, Mrs. Smith-you know it is false. This is shameful behaviour; you have been bribed to set down others above me. I will subscribe here no longer." I shall have two "I am very sorry, Madam, but what can I do? copies. I do all in my power to oblige my customers." "Well, when will they be down?” "Next week, Ma'am, I hope." "It is impossible to say exactly; it depends upon the other ladies, who sometimes keep them too long." "But you should not permit that, Mrs. Smith." "La! Ma'am, what can I do? I send, and send, and beg, and pray, and all to no purpose." "Ah, you manage your library very ill, and are always behind every body." And this is all the reward I get for my pains. Then, when the book is at last published, I am still worse off. My shop is besieged from morning till night. They send to me before I am up, and after I am in bed, at hours when they have no right to disturb me. One lady sent her servant seven times in three hours; and at last he said he should lose his place if he went home without the first volume. Another set her footman to watch at the corner of the street for a little boy, who she knew was gone to fetch "Kenilworth" for a subscriber who was to have it next, and desired him to take it from my messenger by main force; and one gentleman quietly seated himself in my shop, and swore he would never leave it till he got the last volume. Then the gentlefolks tell such dreadful falsehoods: I do believe, since the world began, there were never so many lies told about any thing, as about these tiresome novels; and I can tell Sir Walter Scott, if he is the author, that he will have a great deal to answer for. "I faithfully promise you, Mrs. Smith, upon my word and honour, that I will return you the first volume to-morrow. I read quick, and I shall make a point of sending it to you the very moment I have finished it." Upon the strength of this assurance I venture to quiet another of my tormentors, with the promise of her having the book the following evening, and perhaps it does not arrive for ten days, and all the blame of unpunctuality and falsehood falls upon my unhappy head. Then the ladies are so rude and violent. One tore the book out of my hands, though I held it as tight as I could, and persisted in carrying it off with her in spite of my entreaties. Lord bless me! I wish I had lived before this Scotchman began to write. And he gives one no respite. I had scarcely got through the first fury about "Kenilworth," and had begun to recover my spirits and my temper, when in comes a lady, and says, "Put my name down, Mrs. Smith, for The Buccaneers." Certainly, Ma'am," replied I, very quietly, "pray how long has it been out, and who is it by? I will order it immediately." 66 "Oh, it's not out yet; it's a new novel of Sir Walter Scott's. Another treat for us, Mrs. Smith." You might have knocked me down with a feather. I turned cold from head to foot. "Am I never to have any peace of my life," thought I. "More misery for me, and more work for the devil, who loves liars." I am sure Sir Walter is in compact with him. The devil gives irresistible talent and unequalled rapidity of composition, and receives, in return, the power of making ladies who used to speak truth, speak falsehood, without either hesitation or remorse. And it can only be by some supernatural charm that the author of these accursed books contrives to please all the world. People differ about every other work in my library; but these Scotch novels are admired by young and old, grave and gay, wise and foolish. If they continue to come out so rapidly, I must either give up my business, to avoid dying of consumption, or else I must follow the example of a librarian at Oxford, who never will admit one of my Scotch torments into his shop. I dare say he is afraid of being torn to pieces by the wild Oxonians, which is likely enough to happen, for I am half killed by what is called "the gentle sex." "I am quite ashamed, Sir, of having troubled you so long with my distresses; but knowing your Honour's goodness, hope you will excuse the liberty, and remain, Your grateful and humble servant, A. SMITH. Notwithstanding my concern for my correspondent's distress, I want not only the power, but the will to relieve it, as I am one among the millions who are anticipating, with great delight, the publication of "The Buccaneers," and who hail with pleasure every addition to these novels of the 19th, and classics of the 20th century. I earnestly hope that their author will not be so moved by the wretchedness of poor Mrs. Smith as to resolve upon the suppression of his new work, and that he will not be grievously offended by the imputation of infernal intercourse. For my own part, I can never believe that the enemy of the human race would assist in affording them so much gratification in so innocent a shape; nor am I disposed to credit Mrs. Smith's heavy censures on my fair countrywomen. Truth, whether considered as "the conformity of speech to the end for which GoD designed it," as a moral virtue, or a Christian grace, is too serious a duty to be neglected, even for the sake of reading "Waverley" or "Kenilworth ;" and a promise, in the opinion of every rightly-disposed mind, is sacred and binding, though made to the keeper of a circulating library. I intend to advise Mrs. Smith either to give up her present business immediately, in order to put an end to her sickness and her sorrows, or to become more patient and less irritable, which will probably produce the same desirable effect. Indeed, all who are tied by fate to uncongenial pursuits, will find it their wisdom and their interest to accommodate their minds to these adverse circumstances. They will discover that perseverance is an admirable substitute for talent; and that he who has the habit of looking on the bright side of things, and persons, and prospects, may be said to possess the best genius in the world, -a genius for being happy. SONNET, IMITATED FROM CHEVREANA. To have a jealous, ugly wife, In hopeless love to pass one's life; To sail upon a stormy sea, To deal with Scotchmen, or with Jews, In travelling to pass one's days, |