OiN THE BOX SEAT OP THE ROYAL MAIL. 233 



lation, aud emulation produces good horses. 

 Guique sua voluptas — which, I believe, literally 

 construed, means " every hog to his own apple ;" 

 and, delightful as driving a private drag is — for 

 it pleases the ladies, and all goes " merry as 

 a marriage bell" in an excursion to Richmond, 

 Greenwich, Maidenhead, the Crystal or Alex- 

 andra Palaces — it, perhaps, was exceeded by 

 the pleasure of sitting on the box-seat of one 

 of the Royal maih, with four fresh horses 

 every eight miles, and a guard decked out 

 in regal livery behind to whisper in your ear 

 if you did not keep your time. The night- 

 mail was very preferable to a day coach — first, 

 because you seldom met any seedy old fellows 

 outside the mail enveloped in stuff cloaks, wdth 

 cotton umbrellas, which on a rainy day acted 

 as a spout to convey the water down your 

 neck, aud who, on seeing tbe coachman give 

 up the ribbons would instanter bawl out. 

 " I say, coachman, I can't allow that." 

 Then the pace on the mail was always 

 good. Again, the mail was not encumbered 

 with huge piles of massive black boxes, 

 fantastically worked with brass nails, belonging 

 to the lady passenger inside ; and last, not 

 least, there was a sort of glorious autocratical 



