JAUNTS AND JOTTINGS. 143 



had missed the road to the homestead, and suffered 

 in consequence. I shall never forget that ride. 

 Never before were half-a-dozen aldermen and a 

 mayor so jolted and jostled about. It was most 

 undignified, to say the least of it. The coach had 

 no springs — it bumped along at a savage pace. I 

 made a request to be allowed to try the inside of 

 the coach. I am sorry to say the request was 

 granted, and we came to a halt. Inside was awful. 

 At every extra strong bump I was jerked off the 

 seat, my head came into violent contact with the 

 top of the coach, and I was forced down again in 

 the most off-hand manner. I was on the top of 

 that coach again quickly, and got a seat between 

 the mayor and the driver. When I was not hold- 

 ing on to the mayor he was holding on to me. 

 Mile after mile we traversed. We were famished 

 and holding on to the coach for bare life. The 

 driver seemed to enjoy it. He had been bumped 

 for the greater portion of his existence and was 

 used to it. The question was, where did the road 

 lie ? I saw a track, nothing more, occasionally not 

 even that. At one part of the journey we tore down 

 a hill with ruts in a foot deep, and branches of 

 trees had to be dodged in order to avoid losing 

 what brains we possessed. Then we drove through 

 a mass of thistles as high as the horses. We 

 struggled into the village of Lewis's Ponds in a 



