I took his hand, and looking at him I recognized him.  “Oh, sir! you are the gentleman who was sitting in the room when we called upon Sir Hercules and her ladyship.”

“I am so, Tom, and I promised Sir Hercules that I would have an eye to you all, and be of any use to you that I could.  My name is Wilson, and I’m what the sailors call a shark, that is, I’m a lawyer.”

“Well, you don’t appear as if you would bite, sir,” replied I, as I looked at his venerable and kind face.

“No, no, we never frighten people by our looks.  We don’t carry our teeth with us; but I have several rows of them, all upon shelves in my chambers, called the ‘Statute at Large,’ and by other names.”

He then entered into conversation with me, and I told him most of what had passed, of course not forgetting that the Indiaman we had brought up the river had captured a privateer.  He sat about an hour, and then went away, desiring me to call upon him.  I was not sorry when he went, as I wished to show my presents to Virginia, and give her those which she liked best.  When Virginia had selected for herself, or rather I had forced upon her all she most admired, I gave a cut ivory card-case, a filigree needle-case, and a small red scarf to my mother, who, for the first time in her life, appeared pleased with me, and said that they were very genteel, and she was much obliged to me.  The remainder I put away in my room upstairs, intending to keep some for Bessy, and give the others to Mrs. St. Felix, the doctor, and old Nanny.

I then went to the hospital and found out my father, old Anderson and Ben.  I narrated to them much more circumstantially than I did to the old lawyer the particulars of the capture of the privateer.  Anderson put a great many inquiries to me, as to my liking my profession, and also concerning little Bessy, whose history I communicated to him.  After my father and Ben had left, he gave me a great deal of advice, all of which I trust that I treasured up.

“I hear,” said he, “that Spicer has been talking a good deal about you, and inquiring very often when you were expected to return.  Were you very intimate with that man?”

I replied in the negative, and then narrated the whole history of the spy-glass, the erasure of the name by Mrs. St, Felix, and the recognition of it by Spicer.

“You did right to leave him in his error relative to where you received the glass from,” said Peter Anderson; “there is some mystery there which time may unravel, but do not say a word of it to any one, Tom.  I am glad that you have told me, as, in case you are away, and anything should occur, I shall know how to act.”