174 ANNALS OF THE ROAD. 



skim over the well macadamised road, and the horses 

 bursting into a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step 

 along the road as if the load behind them, coach, pas- 

 sengers, game, luggage, and all were but a feather at 

 their heels. They have descended a gentle slope, and 

 enter upon a road as compact and dry as a solid block of 

 marble. Our stage-coach carries animation always with 

 it, and puts the world in motion as it whirls along. The 

 horn sounded at the entrance of a village produces a 

 general bustle. Some hasten forth to meet friends, some 

 with bundles and band-boxes to secure places, and in 

 the hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of the 

 group that accompanies them. In the meantime the 

 guard has a world of small commissions to execute. 

 Sometimes he delivers a hare or a pheasant, sometimes 

 jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the door of the 

 public-house, and sometimes, with knowing leer and 

 words of sly import, hands to some half-blushing, half- 

 laughing housemaid an odd-shaped billet-doux from 

 some rustic admirer. As the coach rattles through the 

 village, everyone runs to the window, ?nd you have 

 glimpses on every side of fresh country faces and bloom- 

 ing Qrioralingr cnrls. At the corners are assembled village 

 idlers and wise men, who take their stations there for 

 the important purpose of seeing company pass out. The 

 largest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to whom the 

 passing of the coach is an event fruitful of much specula- 

 tion. The smith with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses 

 as the vehicle whirls by ; the cyclops round the anvil 

 suspend their ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to 



