a. After walking down to the harbour, I returned back to my
inn, half resolved not to proceed to the south, but return to Leith in a
vessel that was also ready to sail, loaded with grain. I felt myself as
if I had been a child, without a will of my own, not caring what became
of me. Had I been seized with a mortal disease, I would, I thought, have
welcomed death as a relief; so completely had my spirits, somehow or
other, become depressed. How I escaped the pressgang, I have often
wondered since; for they were very diligent in impressing seamen at this
time, and I was in seamen's clothes. Perhaps the fearless manner in
which I walked about had led them and the informers to suppose that I
had a protection, or was belonging to some ship, and at large on leave
of absence.

After breakfast, as I sat conversing with one of the captains about the
weather and other trivial matters, a person entered the room with a pack
upon his back, and inquired if any of the gentlemen would be so kind as
look over his assortment of goods; strongly recommending some silk
handkerchiefs.

"No," said the person with whom I was conversing, gruffly. "I want none
of your goods. You packmen are all swindling knaves."

"Not all knaves, my good sir. There are knaves in all trades, I allow;
but there are honest men, too." And, addressing himself to me, he
repeated his request.

His voice at first had sounded in my ears like some well-known sound,
and roused my attention; but in vain I endeavoured to call to mind where
I had heard it. I had not yet looked towards him; but the instant I did,
a mutual recognition took place. He set his pack upon one of the tables
of the tap-room. Our hands were clasped in each other's. "Square!" and
"Wilson!" were uttered with mutual feelings of joy and surprise. I had
met a companion of my early days and sufferings. Often had we spent the
long and chilling winter nights, huddled together to keep each other
warm, in the snuggest corner we could find; hungry and ill clothed,
often had we shared the precarious morsel of charity with each other,
when either could have devoured it all. We had not met since I had first
left Edinburgh, many years before; and, if a tear was shed for my
mysterious disappearance, it was by Bill Wilson. A glow of pleasure,
such as I had never felt before, thawed the icy feeling that had chilled
my mind. How delightful must some of the stronger affections be, when
the meeting of an early associa