CHAPTER XXIV 



Winter in the North 



T T is but a night ticket taken at King's Cross or 

 ^ Euston Square, and we shift the scene to the north 

 of the Border. You roll out of the berth in the 

 " Pullman," or shake yourself clear of your wrappings 

 to contemplate the December morning breaking on the 

 sea or the landward wastes. Sea blends with sky and 

 vapour with dull grey fallow, till you can hardly tell 

 where one begins or the other ends. But there are 

 bright streaks in the reddening horizon to the west, 

 which slowly break into golden bars, and then the disc 

 of the ruddy orb of light rises in all the promise of his 

 frigid glories. It is in the assurance of a life-giving 

 winter day that you hear the hoar-frost crackle under 

 your chilly feet on the railway platform. The double 

 dog-cart is in waiting with the roughed horses : strip 

 their warm clothing, and give them their heads. They 

 spring forward, rattling the pole-chains, breathing 

 smoke if not flame from their nostrils like the swifter 

 coursers of the sun overhead ; and far and near may 

 be heard the echo of their hoofs as they rattle, regard- 

 less of their back sinews, along the iron roads. For 



21 3 5 



