owever this might be, Johnny readily accepted his
offer, and at once accompanied him to the vessel he alluded to, which
was, indeed, on the point of sailing. Vander, taking care that there
should be no mistake in this case, conducted him down into the cabin,
and waited on the quay till he saw the vessel fairly under weigh.

Having brought the disasters of Johnny Armstrong to this point, we
proceed now to finish what we assure our readers, is an "ower true
tale."

As we were strolling down the pier of Leith, with a friend, one
afternoon in the year 18--, we saw a vessel making for the harbour. It
was high water, and the scene altogether was a very pleasing and a very
stirring one. But, amongst the various objects of interest that
presented themselves, there was none that attracted so much of our
attention as the stately vessel that, with outspread canvas, was rapidly
nearing the pier. We asked a seaman who stood beside us, where she was
from. He replied--"Rotterdam."

On approaching the pier, the vessel shortened sail, and, by this
process, enabled us deliberately to scan her decks from our elevated
position, as she glided gently along with us. During this scrutiny, we
observed amongst the passengers a stout little man in a brown greatcoat,
with a large red comforter about his neck, and his hat secured on his
head--for it was blowing pretty hard--by a blue pocket-handkerchief,
which was passed beneath his chin, and gave him, in a very particular
manner, the peculiar air of a traveller or _voyageur_. There was nothing
whatever in the appearance of the little man in the brown greatcoat
which would have led any one to suppose, _a priori_, that there possibly
could be anything remarkable or extraordinary in his history; but I was
induced suddenly to change my opinion, or at least to take some interest
in him, by my friend's exclaiming, in the utmost amazement, and, at the
same time, pointing to him with the red comforter--

"Gracious Heaven, if there is not Johnny Armstrong! Or it is his ghost!"

"No ghost at all, we warrant you," said we; "ghosts do not generally
wear greatcoats and red comforters. But who in all the world is Johnny
Armstrong?"

"Johnny Armstrong," replied our friend, greatly excited, "is a person, a
particular acquaintance of mine, who has been missing these six weeks;
and who was supposed, by everybody who knew him, to have perished by
some accident or other, but of what nature could never be ascert