Oh, sir, was it no an awfu thing to think that sae mony fine lads, wha had left us a few hours afore, fu' o' life and speerit, should be hurried awa at a moment's warning, and buried in the waves o' the sea! There was an unco gloom owre the ship a' that day and the neist--the men gaed about whispering to ilk ither, as if they were feared to hear the sound o' their ain voices--and the bauldest amang them were sobered for a time. But oh, sir, to see how sune the dearest and best are forgotten! In a few days the maist o' the men were as heartsome and blithe as if naething had happened. Puir Geordie! aft hae I thocht o' you when it was my look-out on deck, and o' the merry ee and the heartsome laugh that I'll ne'er see or hear mair. But it's getting weel on in the day, sir; so I maun cut short my yarn, as we sailors say, and leave ye. I left the ship in China, and volunteered on board a man-o'-war, and, after being three years on a forran station, I was paid aff a fort-nicht past, and am now on my way hame, to share my savings wi' my wee lass, if she hasna forgotten me. Guid afternoon, sir. I'll maybe meet ye again ere lang, and then, if ye like to listen to them, I'll gie ye mair o' my cracks. I maun awa to puir Geordie's faither. And, before I had time to question him as to the whereabouts of his home, and how or when I was to meet him again, he bounded over the gate, and disappeared. That same evening, I was sitting in Edward Thompson's comfortable parlour, reading my favourite, Burns; Elsie was knitting near me, and Ellen was preparing some of the trout that I had brought home for supper. The sun had long set, and the twilight was only just beginning to fade into night; the window was open to admit the mild evening air; and the song of the thrush and blackbird had usurped the place of all other sounds with sweet melody. Just as we were about to seat ourselves at the plain but comfortable board, we heard some one at a short distance whistling the air of "Dinna think, bonny lass, I'm gaun to leave you." And immediately afterwards, a fine, clear, manly voice sang-- "I'll tak my stick into my hand, And come again and see you." Ellen started, and turned pale. "What ails the lass?" said her father, when the door burst open, and, glowing with health and exercise, my friend of the morning stood before us. The old people stared with surprise; their memory was at fault. Not so Ellen: she blushed, turned pale; and burst into tears. "Faither, d'ye no mind Tam?--Tam Wilson?" And the next moment Tom--_her_ Tom--was at her side, and fondling her to his heart.