THE BRIGHTON ROAD. 113 



CHAPTER XXII. 



THE BRIGHTON ROAD {fOUtintied^ 



1 In my last letter to you I pulled up, I think, on 

 George Sheward's " Magnet ; " and the time allowed 

 for washing out our mouths being now expired, I 

 proceed once more to take hold of my whip and 

 reins, and •' wag on " another yard or two, 1 on the 

 same coach. I am sorry, however, to say that my 

 " bill ' is but a short one, and still more sorry to 

 observe that for some time past it has been but too 

 often the case ; and that this very quick and capitally 

 horsed coach has fallen off for the last two months 

 most lamentably and unaccountably. Unaccountable 

 it certainly appears, for no drag at the same hour 

 is turned out better, if so well. The time is accurately 

 kept ; the fares are the same as all its neighbours ; 

 the coach itself affords the same accommodation for 

 passengers ; yet, although all this, and more, is done 

 for the satisfaction of the public, it carries decidedly 

 the worst loads by far of anything out of Brighton or 



1 ' A favourite expression of Ned Burford (of whom I had before spoken 

 when starting with his coach from the " Cellar " in Piccadilly) — " Now we'll 



wag on a yard or two further." ' 



» 



I 



