69 



CHAPTER IV. 



T XOW proceed to describe the rop.d as it was 

 -^ before panting steeds had giving way to 

 puffing engines, iron greys to iron rails, coach- 

 men and guards to stokers, and horseflesh to 

 steam, which has been likened to water in a 

 hio'h state of perspiration. 



It was early in a morning, in the merry 

 month of May, when I found myself at the 

 " White Horse Cellar," Piccadilly, just as the 

 York House coach was starting for Bath. I 

 had previously secured the box seat, and, encased 

 in a double-breasted drab coat, waited the arrival 

 of a noble Duke, then a Marquis, well known 

 to all the best coachmen on the road as a 

 most liberal patron, and a first-rate whip him- 

 self. 



" Sorry to have kept you," said the new- 



