truck-bed in my mean garret. Then seating himself beside me on the shabby couch, he proceeded to examine, by the light of a miserable tallow-candle, a translation I had been making from the Orations of Cicero.

"With your talents, Geoffrey, you need not fear the tyranny of any man. It will be your own fault if you do not rise in the profession you have chosen."

"The choice was none of mine."

"Then be grateful to your uncle for once, in having chosen it for you."

"Do not expect impossibilities!" and I smiled bitterly.

"Not exactly. Yet, Geoffrey, many things which appear at first sight impossible, only require a series of persevering efforts to become both easy and practicable. You might render your unpleasant position with your uncle more tolerable, by yielding to his authority with a better grace. The constant opposition you make to his wishes, is both useless and dangerous. Though you neither love nor respect him, and I should be sorry if you could do either, yet he is entitled to obedience and a certain degree of deference as your guardian and master."

"I never can willingly obey him," I cried, angrily, "or bring my mind to submit to his authority."

"In which, I assure you as a friend, you are wrong. As long as his commands do not interfere with any moral obligation, you are bound to listen to them with respect."

"The man has always been my enemy, and would you have me become a passive instrument in his hands?"

"Certainly, as long as you remain his clerk, and he does not require your aid in any villainous transaction. If his intentions towards you are evil, you cannot frustrate them better than by doing your duty. Believe me, Geoffrey, you have a more dangerous enemy to contend with, one bound to you by nearer ties, who exercises a more pernicious influence over your mind."

"His sordid, selfish, counterpart—his worthy son?"

George shook his head.

I looked inquiringly.

"A certain impetuous, wilful, wrong-headed boy, yclept Geoffrey Moncton."

"Pish!" I exclaimed, shrugging my shoulders: "is this your friendship?"

"The best proof I can give you of it."

I walked hastily to and fro, the narrow limits of the chamber, raising, at every step, a cloud of dust from folds of old, yellow parchment and musty rolls of paper, which had accumulated there for the last half century, and lay in a pile upon the floor. I was in no humour to listen to a lecture, particularly when my own faulty temper was to be the principal subject, and form the text. Harrison watched my movements for some time in silence, with a provokingly-amused air; not in the least discouraged by my wayward mood; but evidently ready for another attack.

"Prithee, Geoffrey, leave off raising that cloud of dust, disturbing the evil spirits which have long slumbered in yon forgotten pile of professional rubbish, and sit down quietly and listen to reason."

I felt annoyed, and would not resume my place beside him, but, assuming a very stately air, seated myself opposite to my tormentor on a huge iron chest, which was the only seat, save the bed, in the room; and then, fixing my eyes reproachfully upon him, I sat as stiff as a poker, without relaxing a muscle of my face.

He laughed outright.

"You are displeased with my bluntness, Geoffrey, and I am amused with your dignity. That solemn, proud face would become the Lord Chancellor of England."

"Hold your tongue, you tormentor; I won't be laughed at in this absurd manner. What have I done to deserve such a sermon?"

"'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, saith the preacher,' and surely, Geoffrey, your vanity exceeds all other vanity. I hint at a fault, and point it out for correction. You imagine yourself perfection, and are up in arms in a moment. Answer me, seriously: do you ever expect to settle in life?"

"I have dared to cherish the forlorn hope."

"Forlorn as it is, you are taking the best method to destroy it."

"What would you have me do?"

"Yield to circumstances."

"Become a villain?" This was said with a very tragic air.

"May Heaven forbid! I should be sorry to see you so nearly resemble your uncle. But I would have you avoid uselessly offending him; for, by constantly inflaming his mind to anger, you may ruin your own prospects, and be driven in desperation to adopt measures for obtaining a living, scarcely less dishonourable than his own."

"Go on," I cried: "it is all very well for you to talk in this philosophical strain. You have not been educated in the same bitter school with me; you have not known what it is to writhe beneath the oppressive authority of this cold, unfeeling man; you cannot understand the nature of my sufferings, or the painful humiliation I must daily endure."