Oh! no, no. She is certainly exceedingly clever and accomplished, and can be very agreeable; but she values herself so highly on her musical talents, that she will be affronted, if not entreated to sing one of her Bravura songs, which to me are detestable, nor do I think them so very delightful to you. Besides she expects to be first fiddle, and demands from the celebrity of her name, more attention, than is consistent with that equality which ought invariably to prevail in friendly meetings. Will you ask Miss ⸺? No, I think not. She is a mighty good sort of person, and nobody disputes her cleverness; but she is suspected of taking notes of the conversations, at which she may be present, and you must not be surprized if, when you least expect it, you find some observation, or anecdote, or chit chat, gravely inserted in some note in an original novel, or translation from some of the books vended at Leipsic fair. But why must this female be an author? Need we go far to find one, who though she has never written any thing for publication, has one of the finest understandings in the world, a correct taste, admirable judgment, refined manners, joined to the sweetest temper in the world; whose conversation is far preferable to the pedantry of any half-learned _Precieuse_, or the confidence which has been inspired by flattery unduly bestowed. You need say no more. Eliza shall complete our party. Neque ad vos quæ ignoravi possum enuntiare, sed quæ plane comperi ad istas literas proferam. CHAPTER XL. He, who like our friend, shall have consumed a life of some considerable length, in the professed service of literature, must necessarily have had much and familiar connection with a class of men, among whom will be found as great a variety of character, as can possibly distinguish any individuals of any profession—BOOKSELLERS. Innumerable anecdotes, observations, and matters of fact, concerning Booksellers, were found scattered among the Sexagenarian’s papers. If they were to be arranged in a connected form, they would probably form an amusing and interesting narrative. But such is neither the office of the Editor, nor if it were, has he the adequate ability to perform it in a manner which might do credit to the original author. The reader must, therefore, be satisfied with some selected scraps, which are placed in a tolerably chronological order, and which exhibit the first feelings and first adventures of a young author, in the mysterious arcana of copy, proofs, printing, and publishing. The proudest and the most celebrated writers, whose productions adorn our annals, would, if earnestly interrogated, candidly, without doubt, acknowledge, that the warmest and most anxious wish of early genius is to see its first effusions in print.