Wallingford, coolly, as we were walking up Pine street,
on our way back towards the tavern, "did you not tell me you employed
Richard Harrison as a legal adviser?"

"I did. Mr. Hardinge made me acquainted with him, and I understand he is
one of the oldest lawyers in the country. That is his office, on the other
side of the street--here, directly opposite."

"I saw it, and that was the reason I spoke. It might be well just to step
in and give some directions about your will. I wish to see Clawbonny put
in the right line. If you would give me a deed of it for one dollar, I
would not take it from you, the only son of an eldest son; but it would
break my heart to hear of its going out of the name. Mr. Harrison is also
an old adviser and-friend of mine."

I was startled with this plain-dealing; yet, there was something about the
manner of the man that prevented my being displeased.

"Mr. Harrison would not be visible at this hour, but I will cross to the
office, and write him a letter on the subject," I answered, doing as I
said on the instant, and leaving John Wallingford to pursue his way to the
house alone. The next day, however, the will was actually drawn up,
executed, and placed in my cousin's hands, he being the sole executor. If
the reader should ask me why I did this, especially the last, I might be
at a loss to answer. A strange confidence had come over me, as respects
this relative, whose extraordinary frankness even a more experienced man
might have believed to be either the height of honesty, or the perfection
of art. Whichever was the case, I not only left my will with him, but, in
the course of the next week, I let him into the secret of all my pecuniary
affairs; Grace's bequest to Rupert, alone, excepted. John Wallingford
encouraged this confidence, telling me that plunging at once, heart and
hand, into the midst of business, was the most certain mode of forgetting
my causes of sorrow. Plunge into anything with my whole heart, I could
not, then, though I endeavoured to lose my cares in business.

One of my first acts, in the way of affairs, was to look after the note I
had given to Rupert. It had been made payable at the bank where I kept my
deposits, and I went thither to inquire if it had been left for
collection. The following conversation passed between myself and the
cashier on this occasion:

"Good morning, Mr.----," I said, saluting the gentleman; "I have come to
inquire if a note for $20,000, ma