THE ROAD. 
says John smiling "no such a thing on the road now. 
It is the hind-dickey, as some call it, where you'll be 
as comfortable as possible, and can sit with your back 
or your face to the coach, or both, if you like." "Ah, 
ah," continues the old gentleman; "something new 
again, I presume." However, the mystery is cleared 
up; the ladder is reared to the hind wheel, and the 
gentleman seated on the gammon-board. 
Before ascending to his place, our friend has cast his 
eye on the team that is about to convey him to Hartford 
Bridge, the next stage on the great western road, and 
he perceives it to be of a different stamp from that which 
he had seen taken from the coach at Bagshot. It con- 
sisted of four moderate-sized horses, full of power, and 
still fuller of condition, but with a fair sprinkling of 
blood; in short, the eye of a judge would have dis- 
covered something about them not very unlike galloping. 
"All right!" cried the guard, taking his key-bugle in 
his hand ; and they proceded up the village, at a steady 
pace, to the tune of "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," 
and continued at that pace for the first five miles. "/ 
am landed," thinks our friend to himself. Unluckily, 
however, for the humane and cautious old gentleman, 
even the Regulator was about to show tricks. Although 
what is now called a slow coach, she is timed at eight 
miles in the hour through a great extent of country, and 
must of course make play where she can, being strongly 
opposed by hills lower down the country, trifling as 
these hills are, no doubt, to what they once were. The 
! 
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