A DULOINEA OF MY YOUTH. 73 



I inquired, in so nervous a manner — I was then 

 young, and, as Shakespeare writes, " in my 

 salad days" — that the coachman, who is what is 

 termed " wide-awake" upon all affairs of the 

 heart, guessed my motive. 



" We can, Sir, if you like," he responded. 

 " Perhaps Dick has a parcel to leave for Squire 

 Lee. Anything for the thicket r" he continued, 

 turnino^ to the " shooter" behind, and o^ivins;' 

 him a knowing wink, a hint which the other 

 took at once. 



" Why, yes, Sam ; I wish to know whether 

 Mr. Vansittart has sent for the empty sack I 

 left there last Monday." 



As we reached the well-known spot where I 

 had passed many a half-hour in the society of 

 the pretty, innocent girl whose fair face, blue 

 eyes, auburn ringlets, and bewitching smile had 

 turned the heads of all the youths in the neigh- 

 bourhood, my heart began to palpitate, my 

 hands to tremble, and I should have driven past 

 the house had not my box companion caught 

 hold of the reins with a firm grasp and pulled 

 the horses up in front of the public-house. 

 Fortunately, my Dulcinea had not noticed the 

 hand that assisted me, and, seeing the coach 

 stop, rushed to the door, exclaiming. 



