"The north of England! Ah! I well remember an incident that occurred once as I passed through it on my way from Edinburgh to London. I have never been in that part since, and, as near as I can recollect, it is about four-and-twenty years ago. I was fifty-four years old yesterday, and I was thinking that I passed my thirtieth birthday on the top of that stage-coach. Well, we were some distance north of York—I have forgotten the name of the place, but it was a charming little village—and at the top of a shady lane, at the garden gate of a pretty house, there were several people waiting to bid a young soldier good-bye. Young, indeed! he was only a lad, just fifteen, a fine-hearted, sprightly young fellow, and he was going off to India. Well, he took his seat amongst the passengers, called out good-bye, and off he went. I sat beside the coachman, and as I glanced round at him, I felt sorry for the boy, for, though he appeared cheerful enough, I had an idea that his cheerfulness was a little forced: the passengers began to talk with him, and he really was a fine fellow. I never shall forget him—the very type of a handsome English youth. Excuse me, I was forgetting myself; it's but a simple story, after all: we can find something better to talk about."
"Oh, no, pray finish it; I am interested in your story. What became of the young soldier?"
"Well, it was rather curious that I was going south on purpose to bid my brother good-bye, and I found that this young soldier was going to India in my brother's ship."
"That was curious enough," said Hubert.
"It was; and when we alighted, after a long and tedious journey, in London, we went off to the ship together. How very often I have thought of that lad! He had evidently been well cared for by good religious parents, but perhaps from his school training, or I cannot tell what, he was certainly forgetting the instructions they had given him. Oh, how thoughtless and reckless he was! I watched him, for he had told us a little of his history; and as I was leaving the ship, I ventured to give him a word of advice, and tried to persuade him never to forget his duty to his parents: but I cannot tell you more about him. Poor lad! I never saw him again, nor ever heard of him after he reached India. I fear he died, for, soon after his regiment landed, many of the soldiers died of fever, and from what I can remember, I saw amongst the deaths in an Indian paper a soldier of his name; so, never hearing anything more of him, I concluded the poor fellow had succumbed to the climate."
"Why were you so anxious to hear something more of that lad in particular?" inquired Hubert.
"Ah! were I to tell you it would be a long story. I don't know, though, that I need tell all. I think I once told you some of my early history. Well, I married at an early age, and three years after my marriage I buried my wife: the sorrow, however, was greatly alleviated by a little son I had—he was two years old when his mother died, and just able to dissipate my grief by his innocent prattle. Years passed away: wherever I went I took my boy. I travelled through Germany and Prussia with him, and it has often occurred to me that the many people who have been charmed by the works that these travels helped to produce, little thought under what circumstances they were accomplished. Many a long journey, where conveyances could not go, have I taken, with my staff in hand, a little satchel at my side, and that boy on my back. At other times he has trotted by my side; and very often—most nights, indeed—with him sleeping in my arms, or seated beside his bed, I have penned most of my daily wanderings, for I never left him. For eight years after his mother died I never allowed him to go from my sight; but then he left me for ever."
"Not for ever," said Hubert; "you mean, he died? Well, you will go to him, though he will not return to you."
"Why do you say so?"
"Because I believe it, and so do you."