THE ROAD. 
" these here fast drags be the ruin of us. 'T is all hurry 
scurry, and no gentleman has time to have nothing on 
the road. What will you take, sir ? Mutton-chops, 
veal-cutlets, beef-steaks, or a fowl (to kill)?" 
At the appointed time, the Regulator appears at the 
door. It is a strong, well-built drag, painted what is 
called chocolate colour, bedaubed all over with gilt 
letters a bull's head on the doors, a Saracen's head on 
the hind boot, and drawn by four strapping horses ; but 
it wants the neatness of the other. The passengers may 
be, by a shade or two, of a lower order than those who 
had gone forward by the Comet ; nor, perhaps, is the 
coachman quite so refined as the one we have just taken 
leave of. He has not the neat white hat, the clean doe- 
skin gloves, the well-cut trowsers, and dapper frock; 
but still his appearance is respectable, and perhaps, in 
the eyes of many, more in character with his calling. 
Neither has he the agility of the artist on the Comet, for 
he is nearly double his size ; but he is a strong, powerful 
man, and might be called a pattern-card of the heavy 
coachmen of the present day in other words, of a man 
who drives a coach which carries sixteen passengers 
instead of fourteen, and is rated at eight miles in the 
hour instead of ten. "What room in the Regulator?" 
says our friend to the waiter, as he comes to announce 
its arrival. "Full, inside, sir, and in front; but you '11 
have the gammon-board all to yourself, and your luggage 
is in the hind boot." "Gammon-board! Pray what's 
that? Do you not mean the basket?" "Oh no, sir," 
