290 N1MRODS NORTHERN TOUR. 



So kindly he bade me adieu, 

 I felt that he bade me return." 



But to be serious. The frank and hearty reception which 

 greeted me on my arrival was more than equalled in the kind- 

 ness shown me on my departure, in wishes expressed for my re- 

 peating my visits to Hawkhead whenever I was disposed to 

 do so. 



At the early hour of five, the same morning, was I in a post- 

 chaise, on my road for Glasgow, to be in time for the Carlisle 

 mail, in which I was once more booked ; and precisely in that 

 state of feeling in which most respectable gentlemen of my age 

 and habits would have found themselves after having been 

 allowed only about three hours for the insensible escape of all 

 the effects of a good dinner and a jovial night, and a pint of 

 stout Burgundy by way of a climax. In low life, I believe, the 

 term used for this not very agreeable state, is that of " seedy/' 

 and so let it be. Desperately " seedy " was I throughout the 

 whole d,ay ; nor indeed was I at all myself again, until I had felt 

 the benefit of Chester Billy's recipe, and had " gone cool through 

 the sheets," the following night, at Carlisle. 



In my road from Hawkhead to Glasgow, I passed the spot on 

 which, the Glasgow and Paisley steam-coach blew up, a year or 

 two before, killing some of its passengers, blowing oft limbs from 

 others, and par-boiling not a few. If my recollection serves me, 

 the number of killed and wounded amounted to seventeen. With 

 every acknowledgment of the superiority of mechanical over 

 animal power, I told the principal proprietor of steam road-car- 

 riages, many years back, in Mr. TatersalPs yard, that they never 

 could be made available to the road, nor will they ever be. Then 

 again, between Glasgow and Carlisle, a circumstance occurred, 

 quite in character with the place at which it happened. On fresh 

 horses being put to the mail at Gretna Green " that happy spot 

 where the unholy hand of law has not yet plucked up the root of 

 love" the off leader bolted, at starting, and, jumping on the 

 back of her partner, brought her down with her to the ground. 

 Such confusion of this nature I never before witnessed. One 

 leader was on its back, and the bridle off the head of the other, 

 who lay with her head turned toward the coach, and her rein 

 pulled through the driver's hand. Now all this was the result of 

 the want of coachmanship, and nothing else. The culprit, a fine 

 young grey mare, apparently very well bred, wanted to get away 

 quickly with the coach, but the mutton-fisted fellow would not 

 let her do so, and by holding her hard, occasioned what I have 

 described. 



