He lived by begging, always from milkwomen, and always
scones and milk, and was not once refused. It was vile wet
weather, and he could never have been dry. By night he walked the
streets, and by day slept upon Glasgow Green, and heard, in the
intervals of his dozing, the famous theologians of the spot clear
up intricate points of doctrine and appraise the merits of the
clergy. He had not much instruction; he could 'read bills on the
street,' but was 'main bad at writing'; yet these theologians seem
to have impressed him with a genuine sense of amusement. Why he
did not go to the Sailors' House I know not; I presume there is in
Glasgow one of these institutions, which are by far the happiest
and the wisest effort of contemporaneous charity; but I must stand
to my author, as they say in old books, and relate the story as I
heard it. In the meantime, he had tried four times to stow away in
different vessels, and four times had been discovered and handed
back to starvation. The fifth time was lucky; and you may judge if
he were pleased to be aboard ship again, at his old work, and with
duff twice a week. He was, said Alick, 'a devil for the duff.' Or
if devil was not the word, it was one if anything stronger.
The difference in the conduct of the two was remarkable. The
Devonian was as willing as any paid hand, swarmed aloft among the
first, pulled his natural weight and firmly upon a rope, and found
work for himself when there was none to show him.
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