It was again a Sunday morning; and William, having pretended an engagement to dine at Richmond, was breakfasting with his mother and sister, previous to his departure to meet his Jenny; when a loud knock thundered at the door, and the maid coming up stairs said, that a person below wanted her master. “A person, Sally, what kind of a person?” “I don’t think much, he be a gentleman, though he be very smart.”--“Well, shew him up.” Accordingly the person, as Sally phrased it, was introduced. He was a short, squat, sturdy man, with a face round like an apple, chubby, and adorned with cheeks of the kind of that fruit that is called red-streak, goggling eyes, and an expression of mingled pertness, self-importance, and inanity. To decorate this graceful presence, there was a cocked hat, a green coat lined with yellow satin, a red silk waistcoat, and black silk breeches, all bran new, with white silk stockings, now inclining to yellow, very smart shoes, graced with plated buckles, which, having seen service, shewed the brass in various parts. Having walked in with his hat on, he took it off and made to the ladies a bow, which he intended at once to exhibit dignity and condescension; then turning to the gentleman said, “I presume you are Mr. Hamilton.”--“At your service; pray, sir, be seated.”--Having taken a chair, the visitor began: “My name, sir, is Jeffery Lawhunt, I keep a bookseller’s shop; here’s my card; perhaps you have heard of me, and of my character.”--“Yes, I have,” replied the other. “I was not brought up to the bookselling business; I was in the taylor line, and still do a little in that way; these breeches are my own making, and see, madam, they fit very well.”--The young lady ran out at this appeal.--“I got the piece pretty cheap, in payment of a debt that I thought bad.--But I am wandering from the point on which I called on you.--You must know, sir, since I have taken to the bookselling trade, I am a great _pattern of learning_, and hearing you are a very good hand, I am willing to give you employment, sir.”--“You are very kind,” said Hamilton.--“And as to terms, I tell you how I do with my journeymen, and I find some of my authors agreeable to it; also I gives them their wages in traffic.”--“In _traffic_!” said Hamilton.--“Yes, and I find it a very good way: for instance, a coat, or a waistcoat, or a pair of breeches, or sometimes in provisions. I buy a lot of hams, and give pieces of them as payment, both at the board and printing-house. Do you ever do any thing in the theatrical line?”--“Never.”--“Could you not write me a pretty smart novel? I give a very good price. Mrs. Devon, a famous writter, she wrote the Perseverance of Perplexity, and the Lavish Landlord. She has, first and last, had twelve guineas of my money. I have a letter in my pocket here, that will shew you the kind of applications I receive.” Our hero accordingly perused the following epistle:-- “Mr. JEFFERY LAWHUNT;