ing warm, old fellow."

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled away while he worked
himself into his shoes and his great-coat, well warmed through,--a
Petersham coat with velvet collar, made tight after the abominable
fashion of those days. And just as he was swallowing his last
mouthful, winding his comforter round his throat, and tucking the ends
into the breast of his coat, the horn sounds, Boots looks in and says,
"Tally-ho, sir;" and they hear the ring and the rattle of the four
fast trotters and the town-made drag[13] as it dashes up to the
Peacock.

[13] #Drag#: a four-horse coach.

"Anything for us, Bob?" says the burly guard,[14] dropping down from
behind, and slapping himself across the chest.

[14] #Guard#: a person having charge of a mail-coach, a
conductor.

"Young genl'm'n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; hamper[15] o' game,
Rugby" answers Ostler.

[15] #Hamper#: a large, strongly made packing basket.

"Tell young gent to look alive," says guard, opening the hind-boot[16]
and shooting in the parcels after examining them by the lamps. "Here,
shove the portmanteau[17] up a-top,--I'll fasten him presently. Now
then, sir, jump up behind."

[16] #Hind-boot#: a place at the end of a coach for luggage.

[17] #Portmanteau#: travelling bag.

"Good-by, father--my love at home." A last shake of the hand. Up goes
Tom, the guard catching his hat-box and holding on with one hand,
while with the other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot!
the ostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the collar,
and away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, forty-five seconds from
the time they pulled up; Ostler, Boots, and the Squire stand looking
after them under the Peacock lamp.

"Sharp work!" says the Squire, and goes in again to his bed, the coach
being well out of sight and hearing.

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at his father's figure as
long as he can see it, and then the guard, having disposed of his
luggage, comes to an anchor, and finishes his buttonings and other
preparations for facing the three hours before dawn; no joke for those
who minded cold, on a fast coach in November, in the reign of his late
majesty.

A NOVEMBER RIDE IN OLD TIMES.

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation are a deal tenderer
fellows than we used to be. At any rate you are much more comfortable
travellers, for I see every one of you with his rug or