DOWN THE ROAD 121 



Not the least inconvenience attendant on coaches 

 was the hours at which they started. The mails left 

 London at eight o'clock in the evening, and the outside 

 passengers on them dozed uncomfortably through the 

 night, and were in imminent danger of falling off. 

 Those inside were little better: "The gradual decline of 

 talk, the incipient snore, the rustling and shifting of legs 

 and night-caps, the cessation of other noises on the road, 

 the sound of the wind or rain, of the moist circuit of the 

 wheels, and of the time-beating tread of the horses — 

 all dispose the traveller who cannot sleep, to a double 

 sense of the little that is left him to observe. The coach 

 stops, the door opens, a rush of cold air announces the 

 demands and merits of the guard, who is taking his leave, 

 and is anxious to remember us. The door is clapped to 

 again; the sound of everything outside becomes dim; 

 and voices are heard knocking up the people of the inn, 

 and answered by issuing yawns and excuses. Wooden 

 shoes clog heavily about. The horses are heard swilling 

 the water out of tubs. All is still again, and some one in 

 the coach takes a long breath. The driver mounts and 

 we resume our way." ^ 



Such being the discomforts of night travelling, many 

 people preferred to go by the fast day coaches. These 

 often started at six o'clock in the morning, which neces- 

 sitated the traveller either sitting up all night, for fear of 

 oversleeping, or trusting to the doubtful possibility of a 

 servant waking him in time. When the latter alternative 

 was adhered to, and the domestic thundered persistently 

 1 Leigh Hunt on Coaching. 



