ather has of late taken me frequently along with him when he
attends the courts, in his anxiety to see me properly initiated into the
practical forms of business. I own I feel something on his account
and my own from this over-anxiety, which, I dare say, renders us both
ridiculous. But what signifies my repugnance? my father drags me up to
his counsel learned in the law,--'Are you quite ready to come on to-day,
Mr. Crossbite?--This is my son, designed for the bar--I take the liberty
to bring him with me to-day to the consultation, merely that he may see
how these things are managed.'

Mr. Crossbite smiles and bows; as a lawyer smiles on the solicitor who
employs him, and I dare say, thrusts his tongue into his cheek, and
whispers into the first great wig that passes him, 'What the d--l does
old Fairford mean by letting loose his whelp on me?'

As I stood beside them, too much vexed at the childish part I was made
to play to derive much information from the valuable arguments of Mr.
Crossbite, I observed a rather elderly man, who stood with his eyes
firmly bent on my father, as if he only waited an end of the business in
which he was engaged, to address him. There was something, I thought, in
the gentleman's appearance which commanded attention. Yet his dress was
not in the present taste, and though it had once been magnificent, was
now antiquated and unfashionable. His coat was of branched velvet, with
a satin lining, a waistcoat of violet-coloured silk, much embroidered;
his breeches the same stuff as the coat. He wore square-toed shoes, with
foretops, as they are called; and his silk stockings were rolled up over
his knee, as you may have seen in pictures, and here and there on some
of those originals who seem to pique themselves on dressing after the
mode of Methuselah. A CHAPEAU BRAS and sword necessarily completed his
equipment, which, though out of date, showed that it belonged to a man
of distinction.

The instant Mr. Crossbite had ended what he had to say, this gentleman
walked up to my father, with, 'Your servant, Mr. Fairford--it is long
since you and I met.'

My father, whose politeness, you know, is exact and formal, bowed, and
hemmed, and was confused, and at length professed that the distance
since they had met was so great, that though he remembered the face
perfectly, the name, he was sorry to any, had--really--somehow--escaped
his memory.

'Have you forgot Herries of Birrenswork?' said the gentlema