CHAPTER VII.
GEORGE HARRISON.
George Harrison was not distinguished by any remarkable talents; or endowed with that aspiring genius which forces its way through every obstacle, and places the possessor above the ordinary mass with whom he is daily forced to associate.

Yet, his was no common character; no every-day acquaintance, with whom we may spend a pleasant hour, and care not if we ever meet again in our journey through life.
The moment he entered the office my heart was drawn towards him by an irresistible, mysterious impulse, so that looking upon him I became attached to him, and felt confident that the friend whom I had ardently wished to obtain for so many hopeless years, was now before me.
This impression was strengthened by the simple, unaffected, frank manner in which he met the advances of the other clerks.

There was a charm in his smile, in the rich tones of his deep, mellow voice, which made me anxious to catch the one, and hear the other again, though both were marked by quiet, subdued sadness.
His face, strictly speaking, could not be called handsome; and his general appearance was more remarkable for a refined and gentlemanly demeanour, than for anything particularly striking in form or feature.
A good head, fine intelligent hazel eyes, and a profusion of curling dark brown hair, redeemed his countenance from mediocrity; but its careworn, anxious expression, showed too clearly, that some great life-sorrow, had blighted the early promise of youth and hope.
It was some days before I had an opportunity of becoming better acquainted with him.

We were preparing for the spring assizes, and there was work enough in the office to have employed twice the number of hands.

Nothing was heard but the scratching of pens upon paper, from early day until midnight.
At last the hurry was over, and we had more leisure to look about us.
Mr.Moncton was attending a circuit in the country, and his watchful eye was no longer upon us.