160 Friar Bacon’s Key. [Aveusr; 
last emerged upon 4 wide street, that was as strange to meas if it had 
been one of the highways of antient Babylon. In the middle stood a 
solitary hackney-coach, with a pair of huge grey horses, or rather living 
skeletons of horses, for the celebrated ‘“ anatomie vivante’ had not a 
better claim to the title than those semi-transparent animals ; it was a 
marvel to me how they held together at all, and still more how they 
contrived to carry such long, handsome tails, which might have become 
the charger of a life-guardsman. On the box of the said coach sat a 
tall lean negro, well worthy to be the driver of such cattle. He had on 
a high, steeple-crowned hat, like those worn by the members of 
“ Praise-God-Barebone's parliament, grey boots, grey pantaloons, that, 
to use the hostler’s phrase, were spick and span new, and his beard, too, 
was grey,—not as in old age, witha silver tint, but approaching the 
colour of ashes,—and, that nothing might be wanting to make a com- 
plete grey man of him, he wore a cloak of the same complexion. In 
my life I had never seen a more droll-looking Jehu. : 
** Co-ach-man !—co-ach-man !” called my new friend, dwelling on 
every syllable as if he had got the asthma—*« Co-ach-man !’” 
The grey man ftourished his whip with a knowing wink, and a nod 
of the head, as much as to say, “ I understand,” and drove up to us m 
grand style, not leaving a hair’s-breadth between his wheel and the 
curb-stone. In a second he had dismounted; slap went down the 
steps, and I found myself handed into the carriage almost before I was 
aware of it. 
“Good evening, and a lucky journey to you,” said my friend ; 
“ though you will find it morning where you are going.” Sal fy 
The grey man hastily packed up the steps again, and slammed the 
door to. f 
« But, my excellent monitor,” I exclaimed, “ will not you, stop, 
coachman—stop, I tell you.” The rascal had one foot on the wheel 
already—* but, my very worthy counsellor, are not you going with me?” 
“ No occasion,” he replied; ‘‘ old Harry knows where to drive you 
to. He has gone with many before on the same road.” 
« Aye, aye, master,” said the grey man; “I know the road well 
enough. It’s a half-crown fare when I carry a mean one ; and a good 
four shillings-worth when a gentleman steps into my coach.” 
I would have protested against venturing upon so singular a journey, 
unless accompanied by the proposer of it, but all my remonstrances _ 
were effectually drowned in the clatter of the coach, which now set off 
at arate that I had not expected from the lean condition of the cattle, 
The pavement struck a continued stream of fire from their shoes, as 
we flew along through street after street, all apparently deserted, and 
all equally unknown to me, though, till this time, I had flattered myself 
there was not a single corner of London with which I was not as well 
acquainted as the horse of a doctor in high practice. A four-shilling 
fare!—the grey man had done himself less than justice; we had 
already travelled over ground to three times that amount, and were 
now clear of the city, clattering, like mad, down a steep hill, that led, 
of course, somewhere, though where I could not imagine. The farther 
we. went, the higher grew the walls of earth on either side of the road, — 
till at last, their height was such as to completely exclude the light of — 
day. Before and behind me was night, yet still we flew on,—on,—on,— 
on,—till I began to think I had realized, in my own person, the idea 
