though it
was a bitter winter, and I all but perished with the cold, I managed to
always obtain some sort of shelter at night-time.

"I do not know, even now, in what part of London those my first
wanderings led me; but at last, one morning, weak, footsore, and faint
from hunger I came in sight of the shipping on the Thames, and for the
moment forgot my woes in the strangeness of the sight. Seating myself
on a great log of mahogany that some strange-looking, black-whiskered
seaman had just rolled up from a ship lying in the dock, I remained
gazing in a sort of dulled amazement at the bustle and, to my mind,
confusion that seemed to prevail around me.

"For nearly half an hour I remained thus watching the hurrying to and
fro of those about me; for there was an Indiaman just about to leave the
dock, and many hundreds of people had come down to bid farewell to those
on board, among whom were about a hundred or so of soldiers. Hungry and
weary as I felt, the sight of these soldiers, and the inspiriting sounds
of drum and fife music played upon the quarter-deck of the Indiaman,
made me stand upon the log so that I might obtain a better view. Just
then I heard a voice beside me exclaim--

"'Well, my lad, I suppose you would like to be one of them, with a red
coat on your back and a musket on your shoulder, eh?'

"The suddenness of the address nearly caused me to fall off the log,
and the speaker put out his hand to save me. He was an old, white-haired
gentleman of between sixty and seventy, and kindness and benevolence
seemed to irradiate his countenance.

"'Indeed, sir, I should,' I answered as I slipped down off the log and
made him a bow, as was my duty to such a gentleman, and trying to speak
bravely, 'I should like to be a soldier, sir.'

"He looked at me for a moment, and then put his hand on my shoulder.

"'Who are you, my lad, and how came you-down among the docks? You are
a country lad, I can see. Have you been dishonest, or done anything
wrong?'

"There was so much kindliness in his tones as he asked me this that I
could not tell him naught but the whole truth, and although his face was
very grave at the finish, his kind manner did not change, as putting
his hand in his pocket he pulled out his purse and gave me a guinea and
urged me to return to my parents.

"'Nay, sir,' I said, and I began to cry as I spoke, 'I cannot return
home, and with your pardon, sir, neither can I take this money,' and
then my co