tial to
that nation; he had a high opinion of their 'cuteness and reputation for
driving a good bargain, and--somewhat incongruously, for he was a thorough
democrat--piqued himself on his connexion with my family, which was old
enough in all conscience, but as poor, in my particular case, as if I had
been the lineal descendant of Lazarus. In fact, all my patrimony was the
sum of a thousand pounds, firmly secured over land, and not available
until I came of age--a circumstance which frequently elicited tornadoes of
wrath from uncle Dodger, who swore that, if he had got the management of
it, he could have multiplied it tenfold. Subsequent events have convinced
me that he was perfectly right.

Be that as it may, I was ultimately called to the Scottish bar, and
entered upon my profession with the same zeal, promptitude, and success,
which are exhibited by, and attend three-fourths of the unhappy young
gentlemen who select that school of jurisprudence. I appeared punctually
in the Parliament House at nine, cravatted, wigged, and gowned, to a
nicety; took my prescribed exercise, of at least ten miles _per diem_, on
the boards; talked scandal with my brethren, (when we could get it,) and
invented execrable jokes; lounged at stove and library; wrote lampoons
against the seniors; and, in short, went through the whole curriculum
expected from a rising votary of Themis. I followed the law diligently;
but, somehow or other, I could never overtake it. The agents in Edinburgh
must be a remarkably slow set, for they never would appreciate my merits.
At the close of two years, a decree in absence, and a claim in a
multiplepoinding, remained the sole trophies of my legal renown.

One day I was surprised in my study by a visit from uncle Scripio, who had
just arrived from Liverpool. I was reading a novel (none of Justinian's)
at the moment, and hastily shoved it into my desk. After the usual
congratulations were over, the aged file took a rapid survey of the
apartment, which fortunately was in tolerable order, glanced curiously at
a pile of legal papers, procured--shall I confess it?--from my friend
Cotton, the eminent tobacconist of Prince's Street, uttered a hem, in
which incredulity seemed mingled with satisfaction, and then, having been
supplied with a tumbler of sherry and ginger-beer--a compound which he
particularly affected--he commenced the work of inquisition.

"Well, Fred, my boy, how goes it? Slick, eh? Lots of clients comin