THE ROAD. 
to. " What do you charge per mile posting ?" "One 
and sixpence, sir.'' "Bless me ! just double ! Let me 
see two hundred miles, at two shillings per mile, 
postboys, turnpikes, c., twenty pounds. This will 
never do. Have you no coach that does not carry 
luggage on the top?" "Oh yes, sir," replies the 
waiter, " we shall have one to-night that is not allowed 
to carry a band-box on the roof." " That's the coach 
for me; pray what do you call it ? " " The Quicksilver 
mail, sir; one of the best out of London Jack White 
and Tom Brown, picked coachmen,* over this ground 
Jack White down to-night." " Guarded and lighted ? " 
" Both, sir; blunderbuss and pistols in the sword-case; 
a lamp each side the coach, and one under the footboard 
see to pick up a pin the darkest night of the year." 
"Very fast?" "Oh no, sir; just keeps time, and 
that's all" "That's the coach for me, then," re- 
peats our hero; "and I am sure I shall feel at my 
ease in it. I suppose it is what used to be called the 
Old Mercury." 
Unfortunately, the Devonport (commonly called the 
Quicksilver) mail is half a mile in the hour faster than 
most in England, and is, indeed, one of the miracles of 
the road. Let us, then, picture to ourselves our anti- 
reformer snugly seated in this mail, on a pitch-dark 
night in November. It is true she has no luggage on 
the roof, nor much to incommode her elsewhere; but 
* These men were both on the Quicksilver mail, and both first-rate 
coachmen. 
