POSTING DAYS. 2 [3 



cost, a good meal, a pint of beer, and glass of hot grog 

 before they departed, provided by the landlord of 

 the inn. My father had an old boy, Humphrey by 

 name, known far and near, whose age no one could 

 make out, but he lived at the White Hart for more than 

 forty years, and bumped the saddle to the last. Elderly 

 ladies selected him for his care and civility, but he also 

 could put a pair of good stepping horses along at 

 ten to twelve miles an hour among the best of them. 



When poor Henry Dixon, " The Druid," once visited 

 me, I told him a tale of a post-boy which so pleased 

 him that he introduced it into his book of Saddle and 

 Sirloin, and it was selected by The Times in their 

 review of his book as one of the best anecdotes of the 

 time. It was this. My grandfather was a tenant of a 

 large farm of Mr. Drake's, of Amersham, and also of the 

 Crown Inn. One morning in the beginning of the 

 century, the usual cry when a "job," as it was called, 

 appeared, of "First turn out" was heard. My grand- 

 father went to the door of a yellow post-chaise, and saw 

 a kindly-looking, benevolent old gentleman sitting in the 

 corner, in hunting costume, who ordered out a chaise 

 and pair to W^indsor, which was about fifteen miles off. 

 " The first turn," singularly enough, as events proved, 

 was old Tom King, who quickly got out " the yellow," 

 the old gentleman got in, and was bowled off to Windsor. 

 When Tom returned at night he was greatly excited, 

 and he declared, and it was the truth, that he had 

 been driving the King, George the Third. He had got 

 rather moist on the occasion, and for many years after- 

 wards always asked on the anniversary of the event for 



