he son of an old friend, recently deceased. Mr. Morton,
he said, possessed a small competence, and was desirous of proceeding
to the bar. He would be in town with his only sister in a few days,
and any kindness which Mr. Winter could show them would confer a great
favour upon his correspondent.

Winter has been spoken of by the chaplain as an impersonation of
prudence. The description was just; but it was a prudence untainted
by the slightest selfishness. He was a man of a large, liberal, and
honourable nature, without a trace of the narrow-mindedness so often
and so erroneously thought inseparable from his profession; he was so
genial, withal, in his temper, that his friends used to quote him as a
notable example of the rule, that surnames go by contraries. Spring,
they would say, was the proper season for Winter, and Winter was
proper for all seasons. Happy were they, privileged in July to sip his
claret in the arbour of his garden at Hampstead--there was a touch of
the Cockney about him--and in December to quaff his old port in his
sanctum within-doors: hours never grudged by Mrs. Winter, who was as
cheerful as her spouse.

For several generations the legal business of the Trevethlan family
had been managed in the office over which Mr. Winter now presided; and
it was with a sad heart that the worthy attorney effected the
alienations ordered by the late owner of the castle. He entertained a
high regard for the steward, and was quite prepared to extend it to
the son of his friend. No time elapsed after Randolph had sent in his
name, before he was ushered into Mr. Winter's private room.

"Welcome, my young friend," the lawyer cried, extending his hand, and
looking with satisfaction on Randolph's open countenance, "welcome to
town. I have been expecting you: it is a pleasure to know a friend of
Griffith's. How is the worthy steward? He has had his trials, poor
man! Trevethlan is not what it was--Ah me! The young squire going
abroad, I understand. No use. He should marry, Mr. Morton. There's
many a girl would jump at the castle, even yet.--So you are for the
bar. A fashionable profession just now, Mr. Morton. Red coats are
cheap. Cornets from Waterloo--midshipmen of Trafalgar--all rushing to
the law. Uncommonly martial it is just now. _N'importe_: there's room
for all. But this by-and-by.--Miss Morton came with you--Where have
you left her?--Not over-fatigued, I hope?"

The attorney's volubility was meant to give his