d rosy
cheeks seemed to feel no touch of the inclement wind that made his
companions crouch. An oiled-silk foraging-cap fastened beneath the chin,
and a large mantle of blue cloth, bespoke him a soldier, if even the
assured tone of his voice and a certain easy carriage of his head had
not conveyed to the acute observer the same information. Unsubdued in
spirit, undepressed in mind, either by the long day of pouring rain or
the melancholy outline of country on every side, his dark eye flashed as
brightly from beneath the brim of his cap, and his ruddy face beamed as
cheerily, as though Nature had put forth her every charm of weather
and scenery to greet and delight him. Now inquiring of the guard of the
various persons whose property lay on either side, the name of some poor
hamlet or some humble village; now humming to himself some stray verse
of an old campaigning song,--he passed his time, diversifying these
amusements by a courteous salute to a gaping country girl, as, with
unmeaning look, she stared at the passing coach. But his principal
occupation seemed to consist in retaining one wing of his wide cloak
around the figure of a little boy, who lay asleep beside him, and whose
head jogged heavily against his arm with every motion of the coach.

"And so that's Athlone, yonder, you tell me," said the captain, for such
he was,--"'the sweet town of Athlone, ochone!' Well, it might be worse.
I 've passed ten years in Africa,--on the burning coast, as they call
it: you never light a fire to cook your victuals, but only lay them
before the sun for ten minutes, game something less, and the joint's
done; all true, by Jove! Lie still, my young friend, or you'll heave us
both over! And whereabouts does he live, guard?"

"Something like a mile and a half from here," replied the gruff guard.

"Poor little fellow! he's sleeping it out well. They certainly don't
take overmuch care of him, or they'd never have sent him on the top of
a coach in weather like this, without even a greatcoat to cover him.
I say, Tom, my lad, wake up; you're not far from home now. Are you
dreaming of the plum-pudding and the pony and the big spaniel, eh?"

"Whisht!" said the guard, in a low whisper. "The chap's father is dying,
and they've sent for him from school to see him."

A loud blast of the horn now awoke me thoroughly from the half-dreamy
slumber in which I had listened to the previous dialogue, and I sat up
and looked about me. Yes, reader,