COACH JOURNEY FROM LONDON TO BATH. 93 



inside vehicle had not given vray to the fast four- 

 horse ho'ht coach. 



Often have I travelled by one of these wretched 

 convevances to Newburv, when I was at a 

 private tutor's at Donuington Grove. As 

 lucifer-matches had not then been introduced, 

 the only method of getting a light was by 

 strikinor a flint asfainst a steel in a tinder-box. 

 Your candle lit, a hasty toilet made, you de- 

 scended, if at an hotel, into a coffee-room, 

 miserably lit, and reeking with the odour of gin, 

 brandy, and punch. 



At that early hour, breakfast was out of the 

 question. Then there was the uncertainty 

 whether the hackney-coach you had ordered, 

 over night would be forthcoming; if it did arrive, 

 vou reached the "White Horse Cellar" or " Glou- 

 cester" Coffee-House by a little before six, where 

 a glass of rum and milk, or some " early purl," 

 might be had. If an inside passenger, you were 

 subjected to being " cribb'd, cabin'd, confined" 

 in a small compass, without head or knee room, 

 for nearly sixteen hours. If an outsider, there 

 was the discomfort of cold winds, drift- 

 ing snow, heavy rain, and. dripping um- 

 brellas. 



Then the dinners on the road — twenty 



