THE BRIGHTON ROAD. 119 



it and incessant exposure to the worst vicissitudes of 

 weather at the worst periods, the damps and fogs and 

 " peltings of the storm " which these poor fellows have 

 constantly to endure in darkness, and sometimes almost 

 in solitude, with no one but the guard and " the mad 

 woman " about the coach, to say nothing of the teams — 

 blind ones, bow-kickers, and cripples of every description 

 unfit to show by day — that not a few of them have to 

 drive, and the rotten reins and worn-out harness that 

 some proprietors, to their eternal shame, persist in keep- 

 ing at work in the dark ; when we consider all this, I 

 repeat, we shall not find much to envy in the situation of 

 a night coachman. " There is balm in Gilead," however, 

 as Nicol Jarvie observes ; and where the guard and 

 coachman have pulled well together, I have seen in my 

 time an infinity of fun and lark upon the road between 

 supper and breakfast. One night in particular on the 

 Dover mail — but this, and another anecdote or two of 

 night work (in which I shall not forget my friend George 

 Cooper on the York " Highflyer"), I must reserve for a 

 future opportunity, and get back meantime to the neigh- 

 bourhood of the Steyne.' 



