eligious community. I had never thought of it as an
obligation beyond that of custom, and deferred it from year to year,
till I felt ashamed to 'go forward' on account of my age. My wife was a
Cameronian; and to them, though I knew nothing of their principles, I
had an aversion. But for her to hold up the child while I was in the
place, was worse than heathenism--was unheard-of in the parish. The
nearest Episcopal chapel was at Kelso, a distance of ten miles. The
child still remained unbaptized. 'It hasna a name yet,' said the
ignorant meddlers, who had no higher idea of the ordinance. It was a
source of much uneasiness to my wife, and gave rise to some family
quarrelling. Months succeeded weeks, and eventually the child was
carried to the Episcopal church. This choked up all the slander of the
town, and directed it into one channel upon my devoted head. Some said I
'wasna sound,' and all agreed I 'was nae better than I should be,' while
the zealous clergyman came to my father, expressing his fears that 'his
son was in a bad way.' For this, too, am I indebted to procrastination.
I thus became a martyr to supposed opinions, of which I was ignorant;
and such was the unchristian bigotry of my neighbours, that, deeming it
sinful to employ one whom they considered little other than a pagan,
about five years after my marriage I was compelled to remove with my
family to London.

"We were at this period what tradesmen term _miserably hard up_. Having
sold off our little stock of furniture, after discharging a few debts
which were unavoidably contracted, a balance of rather less than two
pounds remained; and upon this, my wife, my child, and myself were to
travel a distance of three hundred and fifty miles. I will not go over
the journey: we performed it on foot in twenty days; and, including
lodging, our daily expense amounted to one shilling and eightpence; so
that, on entering the metropolis, all we possessed was five shillings
and a few pence. It was the dead of winter, and nearly dark, when we
were passing down St. John Street, Clerkenwell. I was benumbed, my wife
was fainting, and our poor child was blue and speechless. We entered a
public-house near Smithfield, where two pints of warm porter and ginger,
with a crust of bread and cheese, operated as partial restoratives. The
noisy scene of butchers, drovers, and coal-heavers was new to me. My
child was afraid, my wife uncomfortable, and I, a gaping observer,
forgetful of m