at the bottom of which was a narrow deep ditch filled with water and 

 mud. The Mail Coach pitched on to the stump of a willow tree that over- 

 hung the ditch ; the coachman and outside passengers were thrown over 

 into the meadow beyond, and the horses went into the ditch ; the unfor- 

 tunate wheelers were drowned or smothered in the mud. There were two 

 inside passengers, who were extricated with some difficulty ; but fortunately 

 no one was injured. I managed to take the passengers, with the guard 

 and mail-bags, on to London, leaving the coachman to wait for daylight 

 before he could make an attempt to get the Mail up the embankment. 

 They endeavoured to accomplish this, with cart-horses and chains. They 

 had nearly reached the top of the bank when something gave way, and 

 the poor old Mail went back into the ditch again. I shall never forget the 

 scene ; there were about a dozen men from the powder-mills trying to 

 render assistance, and, with their black faces, each bearing a torch in his 

 hand, they presented a curious spectacle. This happened about thirty 

 years ago. Posts and rails were erected at the spot after the accident. I 

 passed the place last summer ; they are still there, as well as the old pollard 

 willow stump. 



I recollect another singular circumstance occasioned by a fog. There 

 were eight Mails that passed through Hounslow. The Bristol, Bath, Glou- 

 cester and Stroud, took the right-hand road from Hounslow ; the Exeter, 

 Yeovil, Poole, and " Quicksilver," Devonport (which was the one I was 

 driving), went the straight road towards Staines. We always saluted each 

 other when passing, with " Good night, Bill," " Dick," or " Harry," as the 

 case might be. I was once passing a Mail, mine being the faster, and gave my 

 wonted salute. A coachman named Downs was driving the Stroud Mail ; 

 he instantly recognised my voice, and said, " Charlie, what are you doing 

 on my road ?" It was he, however, who had made the mistake ; he had 

 taken the Staines, instead of the Slough, road out of Hounslow. We both 



