THEY embarked next day, beneath a warm atmosphere and a bright sunshine; and perhaps it was so much the better for the convalescent man, that there was not wind enough to fill the sails of the boat in which he lay. Slowly they made their progress by the strength of oars; and, with difficulty, reached Rothesay-bay ere the evening closed. It was another long day's voyage to Greenock; and during the whole of the time, Mr Blair had reclined in the stern of the wherry, wrapt up from the air of the sea, and preserving the same aspect of silent dejection with which he had quitted the shore of Uigness. Nor after a time did his aged friend interrupt his meditations by many words; for he perceived, that any answers he could extract, were things uttered merely at random, and rightly judged, that whatever disease remained was in the mind, which must slowly work out its own cure for itself.

The third day, Mr Blair took his station in a passage-boat for Glasgow, after committing the care of the horse, which had been left all this time at Greenock, to the charge of John Maxwell;—He, on his part, rode on early in the morning, that he might reach the city in time to prepare accommodations for his Minister.

Mr Blair held little communication with any of the persons who travelled in the passage-boat along with him; and indeed, after a little time, shut his eyes as if asleep, that he might the better escape from their notice. As the river narrowed before him, however, it was evident that he partook in that sort of excitement which is generally diffused over any set of people, when they feel that their journey is nearly at an end. He did not, indeed, mingle in the conversation which was going on round about him, but he sat up in the stern of the boat, and every now and then fixed his eyes eagerly in the direction of the city to which he was approaching.