TIIK YORK ROAD 



!99 



wise call it, from a brother coachman, whose weakness 

 it was to borrow stray whips with no fixed intention of 

 returning" them. 



The end of this accomplished artist in his own line — 







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The Falcon, Huntingdon. 



clearly, from what I can learn, one of the most distin- 

 guished box figures on the first eighty-nine miles out of 

 town of the great north road — is melancholy in the ex- 

 treme to contemplate. But it is typical at the same time 

 of the remorseless destiny forced on men who were really 



