''
My first impulse when I returned home was
to rush to the house of my benefactor, the only
man who had in my distress interested himself in
my behalf. He was a snuff-taker, and it had been
the pride of my heart to save the _ipsa corpora_ of
the first score of guineas I could hoard, and to have
them converted into as tasteful a snuff-box as Rundell
and Bridge could devise. This I had thrust
for security into the breast of my waistcoat, while,
impatient to transfer it to the person for whom it
was destined, I hastened to his house in Brown's
Square. When the front of the house became
visible, a feeling of alarm checked me. I had been
long absent from Scotland, my friend was some
years older than I; he might have been called to
the congregation of the just. I paused, and gazed
on the house, as if I had hoped to form some conjecture
from the outward appearance concerning
the state of the family within. I know not how it
was, but the lower windows being all closed and
no one stirring, my sinister forebodings were rather
strengthened. I regretted now that I had not
made enquiry before I left the inn where I alighted
from the mail-coach. But it was too late; so I hurried
on, cager to know the best or the worst which
I could learn.
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