A CHANGE IN MY PROSPECTS.
The next day, I was surprised at receiving a message from Mr. Moncton
desiring me to attend him in his private office. I went to him in fear
and trembling. I was ill, nervous and dispirited, and cared very little
as to what in future might become of me.
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."
"Well, Robert Moncton is a hard man," said a third.
"Hush! gentlemen," interposed Mr. Bassett, the senior clerk. "It is not
right to make such remarks in the lad's hearing. Mr. Moncton doubtless
does for the best. Come, my little fellow, you and I must be good
friends. Your uncle has placed you under my charge, to initiate you
into all the mysteries of the law. I have no doubt we shall get on
famously together. But you must be diligent and work hard. Your uncle
hates idlers; he is a strict master, but one of the ablest lawyers in
London. Let me tell you, that to be articled to him is a fortune in
itself."
A far-off, indistinct hope of freedom through this channel, presented
itself to my bewildered mind. I thanked Mr. Bassett warmly for his
proffered aid, and told him that I would do my best to deserve his good
opinion.
From that day, I became an office drudge, condemned to copy the same
unintelligible, uninteresting law forms, from early morning until late
at night. Mr. Bassett, a quiet, methodical, business man, was kind in
his own peculiar way. He had a large family, and perhaps felt a
paternal sympathy in my early introduction to the labours and cares of
life. He often commended my diligence, and mentioned me in very
handsome terms to Mr. Moncton; but from that gentleman I never received
a word of praise--weeks and months often passed without his speaking to
me. I was even debarred from spending with my dear aunt that blessed
twilight-hour, which had proved the chief solace of my weary life.
Constant confinement to that close office preyed upon my health and
spirits. I became fretful and irritable, the colour left my cheeks, and
my eyes looked dull and heavy. The clerks, generally kind to me, all
pitied me, though they dared not openly show their regard. They brought
me presents of fruit and sweet-meats, and one who lived in the suburbs
used to delight my heart, every now and then, with a rich bouquet of
flowers. Their beauty and perfume brought back a glimpse of the old
times--dim visions of lawns and gardens, of singing-birds and
humming-bees; of a fair smiling creature who led me by the hand through
those bowers of enchantment, and called me her Geoffrey--her darling
boy.
When such thoughts came over me, my hand trembled, and I could not see
the parchment I was copying through my tears; but for all that, the
sight of the flowers was always inexpressibly dear, and I prized them
beyond every other gift.
I had been about eighteen months in the office, when my good Aunt
Rebecca died--an event sudden and unexpected by all. I was allowed to
see her in her last moments; to sob out my full heart by her death-bed.
Her last words were an earnest request to her husband to be kind to
poor Geoffrey, for her sake: she died--and I felt myself alone and
friendless in the world.