HEADLONG HALL.
CHAP. I.
The ambiguous light of a December morning, peeping through the windows of the Holyhead mail, enabled each of the four passengers,—who had dozed through the first seventy miles of the road, with as much comfort as the jolting of the vehicle, and an occasional admonition to remember the coachman, (thundered through the open door, accompanied by the gentle breath of Boreas, into the ears of the sleeping traveller,) would admit,—to observe the companions of their journey.
