Behind me, on the roof of the coach, were two most eccentric travellers who had taken their places at Birmingham for Shrewsbury. The night was cold, and one, whom I discovered to be of the Emerald Isle, had, with national foresight, provided himself with a dacent drop of “the mountain dew,” just to keep the wind off his stomach; and next to him was seated a demure looking personage, who by his peculiar dialect proved to be a son of Scotia—
“Land of the mountain and the flood.”
“By the honor of Erin!” exclaimed the first, “I’m not at all surprised to find you such a silent companion, for it’s a mighty cowld night, and your conversation must nat’rally freeze before its spoken. Will you take a drop of comfort to thaw it, my darlint?” at the same time presenting a flask of potheen to the party he addressed.
It must be observed that this sprig of shamrock was dressed in a blue jacket, with a light summer waistcoat, and a pair of duck trowsers, which suited admirably the mid-day ride, but were inefficient to exclude the cold night air. But I suppose he went, like the generality of his countrymen, upon the philosophical principle, that “a light heart and a thin pair of breeches goes thorough the world, my brave boys.” His companion was dressed in a velvet shooting jacket, thick plush trowsers, and waistcoat of the same, over which he wore a heavy box coat, which was encased in a cloth cloak of unusual dimensions: over this was a mackintosh cape, and his head was enveloped in a fur cap, fastened by an Indian silk handkerchief tied round the chin—and altogether he seemed to defy wind and weather.
This bundle of comfort, pulling down for an instant the neckerchief, which was also rolled round the aperture of speech, emphatically stated that he had no need of the offer.
“For ye ken,” said he, “that I’m a prudent mon, and never venture outside o’ the coach, unless I have a’ the comforts o’ the inside about me; there’s ne’er a mon, sir, shut up in that unhealthy box, ye may ken, but is caulder than mysel; and I guess, fra’ the garments on your person, that ye’re no quite sae warm.”
“Why thin if I was, I’d be thinking myself nearer to a certain personage than I have any inclination to be for the next half century.”
“But ye ken that extremes meet; and I think by that calculation ye may be nearer to the friend ye mention than I am, seeing that I am but just comfortable, and ye are near the freezing point.”
Having uttered this sarcasm upon his shivering companion, the canny Scot replaced the muffler over his lips, as a signal for silence, while the Irishman, taking another draught from his pocket pistol, sang a stanza of Erin go bragh, and consoled himself with striking a light for his cigar, from which he sent clouds of smoke, which made our travelling convenience resemble, in the gloom, a steam carriage, as it flew along, with nearly as great rapidity; the lighted end serving, as a warming pan to his nose, which thus illuminated, seemed not much unlike a blue light, such as mariners burn for signals of distress.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Boxer,” said he, touching me on the shoulder, “but are you a politician?”