floor of a neat house, in the best street, announcing that "within,
letters were written on all subjects, for all persons, with precision
and secrecy;" I shall never forget the tremor with which I awaited the
arrival of a customer! I had sunk half of my slender capital, and
encumbered myself with a lodging; I did not dare to think, so I sat down
and began, resolutely, to sharpen my penknife on the sole of my
fearfully dilapidated shoe; then, I spread my paper before me; divided
the quires; looked carefully through a sheet of it at the light; laid it
down again; began to grow melancholy; shook off reflection as I would
have done a serpent, and again betook myself most zealously to the
sharpening of my penknife. A single, well articulated stroke on the door
of my apartment, roused me at once to action, and I shouted, "come in,"
with nervous eagerness; it opened, and gave egress to a staid matron, of
high stature, and sharp countenance; I would have pledged my existence
on her shrewishness from the first moment I beheld her. When I had
placed a chair for her, and reseated myself, this prelude to my
prosperity commenced business at once.

"You're a letter-writer, Mr. What-d'ye-call-'em."

I bowed assent.

"Silent--"

"As the grave, madam."

This sufficed; the lady took a pinch of snuff--told me that she had been
recommended to employ me by Mr. Quireandquill; and I prepared for action.
She had a daughter young, beautiful, and innocent--but gay,
affectionate, and thoughtless; she had given her heart in keeping to one