I always took care to secrete my money about my person, as I had not much confidence in the honesty of my comrades. This was untouched by the faithful Creole, who would not, without importunity on my part, accept any thing for her care of me. Having purchased a stock of clothes, I secured a passage in the first homewardbound vessel I could meet with, to endeavour to gain the forgiveness of those I have made miserable by my conduct, and prove the sincerity of my penitence by my future actions; and although I return to them a wretched wanderer, yet will they, I know, still receive me to their arms. You, my dear sir, experience in your own heart the consciousness of having befriended and saved from death a fellow-creature: may the happiness that it imparts be possessed till the latest hour of your life; and although we must soon part, you, perhaps, to meet a happy family, and I, to witness the misery, or may be, death, that I have caused, yet I will cherish the hope that we shall meet again."

I forced on him a sum sufficient to defray his expenses to Scotland. On parting he was much affected: he wrung my hand, and, with a voice broken by emotion, he bade me farewell, promising to write to me after he had reached home, to state how matters went with him.

About a fortnight afterwards I received a letter from him, of which the following is the substance:

"After experiencing some rough weather, and being driven into Douglas, in the Isle of Man, where we lay three days, I was put on shore at Wigton, the place whence I had started, almost four years before, a wretched vagabond. And although my temporal circumstances were no better than at that time, yet a load was taken from my heart, the removal of which was better than the possession of a world. I felt that peace within, to which I had all my life before been a stranger: and while the thought would at times obtrude, that those I loved were, perhaps, dead, or if alive would spurn me from them, yet the prevailing feeling was strong belief that they were yet in existence, and would receive the returning wanderer. Every step I took brought to view some well-remembered spot, doubly hallowed by my absence. Memory led me back to the days of childhood, when, fearing no evil, for I was then innocent, I sported among the heather, or wandered by the side of the burns. At length I reached

the orchard, at the extremity of which was my father's farm house. I could go no farther: I leaned my head on the gate, and wept bitterly for some time. My emotion then subsided, and I endeavoured to collect sufficient resolution to enter; but before I could put my purpose into effect I was disturbed by the barking of a dog, and an old man made his appearance, whom I recognized in an instant as my father. I had devised various plans of first making myself known to my parents while walking from Wigton to my native place; for I thought, that as I had accosted several since I landed, without their recognizing me, I should be able to prevent making myself known too suddenly to my parents, intending to discover myself gradually to them. But although altered in my appearance more than could be conceived in so short a time, my father, on coming up to me, and looking for a moment, exclaimed, as we fell in each other's arms, My son! my son! thank God that you are come back in peace. O my Willy! I thought I should never again see your face on earth. My prayers have been offered up for you every day since you left, that my old eyes might again behold you; and now, blessed be God! my prayers are answered. I forgive you, my son, for all the pain that you have caused us; and may we never part again.'

"After our feelings were somewhat calmed, he said, that the sudden sight of me would be too much for my mother; that he would therefore go to the house, and break the news of my arrival as gently as possible. He left me, and told her that a sailor was coming, who could give some account of their son. Even this was almost too much for her; it was some minutes before she could sufficiently collect herself to ask my father any questions. On his answering them hesitatingly, the thought flashed on her mind, that it must be her own dear child himself come back. She ran out of the house, and knew me at a distance to which I never thought her vision extended, when I was at home before. Who shall describe a mother's feelings, on meeting a child whom she has grieved for as dead? I will not attempt it. Suffice it that we returned to the house, when, after taking some refreshment, and giving an outline of my adventures, my father said, My dear son, let us lift up our hearts in prayer to that Being who has brought you safely back, and blest us this day.'

6

We knelt. The good old man prayed with such earnestness that my heart was melted in an agony of tears; and my former resolutions of leading a new life were still further strengthened by that evening's engagement.

"In answer to my inquiries respecting Margaret, I found that she was still living and well, but that, from the time of my departure she had given up her former acquaintances, and lived in the most secluded manner with her mother and child, rarely being seen except at the kirk on the sabbath. But although the anxiety regarding her bodily health was set at rest, yet it was by no means removed as to the state of her mind. I learned that after my departure she had hovered between life and death for some weeks, and her recovery was succeeded by the deepest melancholy. She would come to mingle her tears with my mother's, and remark, 'If I knew that he was dead I should cease to grieve, as my uncertainty would be removed; but the thought that he may be dying in a foreign country, without a single friend near him, and that we may never hear from him again, is worse to bear: I should die in peace if I could only hear from him, that he was doing well.' My mother, forgetting her own sorrows, would endeavour to console her; but was unable.

"I heard all that was said with the utmost inpatience; and having ascertained that she still lived where we had spent so many happy hours together, I hastened thither. My feelings would not allow me to exercise prudence: I sprang over the little bridge that was laid over the burn in front of her mother's cottage, burst open the wicket gate, the noise of which aroused them both, and in a moment we were locked in each other's arms. After some time, as she did not raise her head from my bosom, I considered, what I ought to have done before, that excess of joy was as bad as excess of grief; and I was alarmed lest sudden emotion had deprived her of life. But I was relieved from my terror when, giving an hysterical sob, she shed tears, and after a little time, was recovered sufficiently to express her feelings in words.

"Great was our joy that night. We sat up till midnight, asking a thousand questions. Our little one was raised from sleep, that I might see her; and while I pressed the innocent child to my arms, I inwardly prayed that the sight of her might keep me always humbled before Him who had brought me to a knowledge of my own vileness

and his holiness, and that, by training her in the paths of virtue, I might endeavour to atone for my conduct to her mother.

"I retired to rest with a thankful heart for the mercies shown to me, and awoke, when the morning had far advanced, with a happiness in my heart to which I had long been a stranger. I resumed my duties on the farm, was soon after united to my dearest Maggie, (who sends her affectionate remembrances to you, and trusts you will soon visit us, when you shall get some genuine Scottish fare, including some excellent metheglin,) and, O may it be my prayer, that by God's strength, who preserved me from the consequences of my crimes, and reclaimed the wanderer, I may be enabled to render myself a useful member of that society the laws of which I have outraged, and for ever abstain from indulging in-nay, even from tasting, that maddening liquor which first led me into the commission of crime.'