James Wilson, being still weak with his late sickness, was compelled toride in the wagon he had brought from home, and I rode his sorrowfuldle-horse.0n the way, Wilson informed me that I sometimes was to attend the grocery atSalisbury, and that he expected me to make money out of the concern. Myvery soul revolted at the bare idea of being a whisky-vender, and myimmediate determination was not to be one. My mind was made up to "taketo the woods" on the first favorable opportunity. I exclaimed nothing,however, but kept my own counsel.