before her,
    Night came and shed its cold tears on her brow;
  Crimson the blush of the morning past o’er her,
    But the cheek of the maiden returned not its glow. 
  Pale on the earth are the wild flowers weeping,
    The cypress their column, the night-wind their hymn,
  These mark the grave where those lovers are sleeping
    Lovely—­the lovely are mourning for them.”

The Casket.

* * * * *

THE COSMOPOLITE.

* * * * *

COUNTRY CHARACTER.

(For the Mirror.)

Country society has but little relief; and in proportion to intellectual refinement, this monotony appears to increase.  We have always been favourable to Book Clubs in country towns, and about ten years since, established one in the anti-social town of ——.  The plan worked well; its economy was admired, and extensively adopted all over England, but we heard little of its contributing to the social enjoyments of the people.  Twenty families reading the same books, and these passed from house to house, among the respectability of the town, might have brought about a kind of consanguinity of opinion, and led to frequent interchange of civilities, meetings of the members at each others’ houses, or at least a sort of how-d’ye-do acquaintance.  The case was otherwise.  The attorney and the doctor joined our society that their families of ten or twelve sons and daughters might keep under the sixpences and shillings of the circulating library; but they soon became jealous of new books, although they often returned them uncut and unread; and so far from knitting the bonds of acquaintance, we at last thought our plan served to estrange the members, by affording the little aristocracy frequent opportunities for venting their splenetic pride; the books were like disjunctive conjunctions, and when we left the place, the “society” did not promise to live another year.

We could entertain ourselves, at least, with sketches of a few of the members of this disjointed body; but we must be content with one, and that shall be the bookseller of the town.

Imagine a man of middle height, rather inclined to obesity, and just turned of fifty-eight.  He had a broad, low forehead, sunken eyes, an aquiline nose, a heavy, hanging lip, and a chin which buried its projections in ample and unclassical folds of neckerchief.  He was bald, except a tuft on the occiput, or hinder part of his head, and on dress occasions he wore powder.  He was a widower, his wife having been dead about ten years, leaving him two daughters, the amiability of whose dispositions was a painful contrast to the uneven temper of their father.  He kept a good table, and had the best cellar of grape wine in the town, but entertained little company.  His guests were usually the valets or butlers of the