oluminously about old times, and what he has to say about the coaches on the Exeter Road is the more

rted from the 'White Horse Cellars,' Piccadilly, which was

CONSTR

ar pencils on the pavement at sixpence a dozen. Once clear of town, his enthusiasm over the travel of other days finds scope, and he begins: 'What an infinite succession of teams! What an endless vista of ever-changing miles of country! What a delicious sense of belonging to some select and specially important and adventurous

f gossipy history of the smart m

and. Its performances caused a sensation in the coaching world, and it was known in such circles as the "Quicksilver Mail." Its

is pistol and blunderbuss in a box in front of him. And the original notion of those who first planned the modern mail coach was that the bags containing the letters should be carried in the hinder-boot. The fore-boot, beneath the{28} driver's box, was considered to be appropriated to the baggage of the three outside and four inside passengers, which was the Mail's entire complement. One of the outsiders shared the box with the driver, and two occupied the seat on the roof behind him, their backs to the horses, and facing the guard, who had a seat all to himself. The accommodation provided for these two was not of a very comfortable descri

OACHI

h were as long as the coach was broad, were heaped upon the roof. The huge heap, three or four tiers high, was piled to a height which prevented the guard, even when standing, from seeing or communicating with the coachman. If to these considerations the reader will add{29} the consideratio

was expected from a traveller by the mail. It was a splendid thing to see the beautiful teams going over their short stage at twelve miles an hour. None but good cattle in first-rate condition could do the work. A saying of old Mrs. Mountain, for many years the well-known

awn up with the utmost exactitude between them. Four ostlers jump to the splinter-bars and loose the traces; the reins have already been thrown down.

allowed. The hot tea, after your night's drive, the fresh cream, butter, eggs, hot

h called the "Telegraph," started some years after the "Quicksilver," to do the distance between Exeter and London in one day. We started at 5 A.M. from Exeter and reached London between 9 and 10 that night, with time for breakfast and dinner on the road. I think the performance of the Exeter "Telegraph" was the ne plus ultra of coach-travelling. One man drove fifty miles, and then meeting the other coach on the road, c

D MAI

guards on the Exeter Road. To say that he was actually the last would be rash, for coachmen, postboys, and guards were a long-lived race, and it would not be at all surprising to learn that

n the roof of the coach. At Christmas-time the load was always heavy; but although the correspondence of that season sometimes severely strained the capac

superintendence of the receiving and despatching of the mails from Paddington, and often spoke of the extraordinary growth of the Post Office bu

Hounslow I made him get off the box-seat; and after securing the mail-bags and putting him in my seat and strapping him in, I took the ribbons. At Whitchurch the coachman unstrapped himself and exchanged places with me, but we had not proceeded more than three miles when, the coach giving a jolt over a heap of stones, he fell between the horses, and the wheels of the coach ran over him, killing him on the spot. The horses, having no driver, broke into a full gallop, so, as there was no front passenger, I climbed over the roof, to gather up the reins,