I found him all smiles and affability. "Geoffrey," said he, holding out his hand, as I entered, "I trust you have received a useful lesson. You will be wise to lay it to heart. Mr. Jones tells me that you write a good bold hand. Give me a specimen of it. Sit down at the table, and direct that letter to Messieurs Hanbury and Company, Liverpool." I did as I was commanded, but my hand trembled with excitement: I found some difficulty in steadying the pen. He took the letter and looked at it carefully, muttering as he did so-- "How like my father's hand. Ay, and how like in obstinacy of purpose; more like him in every respect than his own sons." Then turning to me, who was lost in wonder at this sudden change in his manner towards me, he said, "This is well; you write a fair, legible hand for a boy. I want a lad in my office to copy writs and other law papers. I think you will just do for that purpose. If you are diligent and industrious, after two years trial, I will article you to myself. How old are you?" "Thirteen, next August." "It is young; but you are tall and manly for your age. You and Theophilus are never likely to agree; it is best for you to be apart. You have no fortune of your own. I will give you a profession, and make an independent man of you, if you will try for the future to be a docile and obedient boy." I promised to do my best. He then bade me follow him, and leading the way through a narrow arched passage, he introduced me into the public office, where the large business in which he was engaged was carried on. Though I had been four years in the house, I had never seen the inside of this office before. It was a spacious, dark, dirty, apartment, lighted by high, narrow windows of ground glass; so that no time could be wasted by the junior clerks in looking out into the street. Several pale, melancholy men were seated at desks, hard at work. You heard nothing but the rapid scratching of their pens against the parchment and paper on which they were employed. When Mr. Moncton entered the office, a short, stout, middle-aged man swung himself round on his high stool and fronted us; but the moment he recognized his superior, he rose respectfully to receive him. Mr. Moncton took him apart, and they entered into a deep and earnest conversation: of which, I am certain, from the significant glances which, from time to time, they directed towards me, I formed the principal topic. At length the conference was over, and my uncle left the office without giving me a parting word or glance. When he was fairly out of hearing, all the clerks gathered round me. "Who is he?" "Mr. Moncton's nephew," was the short man's reply to the eager questioners. "Is he sent here to be a spy?" "To learn the profession." "_That babe!_ Is the man mad. It will kill the child to chain _him_ to the desk all day." "Poor fellow; he is the orphan son of his brother," said another. "I have seen him at church with Mrs. Moncton."