The tribulation into which I had thus brought myself gave my father a sore heart; and a ship, the Providence of New York,—happy name!—being then lying at Leith, taking passengers, he, to get me and my brother out of harm's way, paid for our passage by her, and after arranging with our bailsmen, sent us off to espouse our fortunes in America.

She was a very small vessel, and having on board above a hundred persons, crew and passengers, to describe all that befell us during the voyage, would, without other matter, fill a big book.

Before this time I had never been twenty miles from the house in which I was born, and save the summer I spent on the hills recovering my health, I had not been three nights from home. Here, in my twentieth year, was I, without having experienced or seen aught that could be said to be of the world, set as it were on my feet, close jammed in a crowd, from whom there was no retreating, whose ends, motives, and dispositions were as various as their faces. But even in this discomfort there was matter for thankfulness; our situation was such, that we could not indulge in reflection; our attention was distracted by the bustle around us; and I saw the hills of my home passing away without having time to breathe a sigh towards them.

It was a maxim and a saying of my worthy father, that young people ought to earn money before they begin to spend: and accordingly the outfit of my brother and myself, though we were well provided with necessaries, was yet, in the way of money, both of us thought, rather stinted.

After laying in for us a large chest (which had been an heir-loom for near a century) well filled with clothing, and a reasonable stock of such provisions as the ship did not furnish to steerage passengers, the old man with his parting benediction gave us twenty shillings for contingent expenses, after we might land in New York, and to support us until we should get into employment.