1/6 DRIVING. 



as she appeared on the stage. The horses, all piebalds, were 

 supplied by Mat Milton, a noted character in those days, and 

 they were splendidly driven by Charles Jones. I must also 

 mention a first-rate pair-horse coach, the 'Wonder,' put on the 

 road by Lovegrove of the Bear at Maidenhead. It was full 

 every day, and did the twenty-six miles to London in two hours 

 and a half to a minute. 



Among my own early experiences was driving the ' Age ' to 

 Oxford by way of Uxbridge and Beaconsfield. There was 

 much racing and opposition on this road between the * Age' and 

 the ' Royal William ' indeed, with such energy was the coach 

 conducted that the driver told me he once drove the whole 

 distance, fifty miles, in three hours and sixteen minutes. 

 The ' Age ' ran from the Green Man and Still in Oxford Street 

 to the Mitre at Oxford, leaving London at one, reaching 

 Oxford at half-past six. Major Fane, a fine coachman, often 

 drove the 'Royal William.' Such was the jealousy between 

 these two rival coaches that the horse-keepers of the 'Age,' 

 which happened to be first and was changing horses, put 

 a number of stable buckets across the road, thinking to delay 

 the ' Royal William ; ' but Major Fane, who was driving and 

 galloping at the time, the moment that he saw their little game, 

 caught all his horses fast by the head, and giving them a smack 

 all round, splintered the buckets into pieces and went on his 

 way rejoicing. At first I used to drive to Oxford and return 

 the next day, but I soon wished for more work ; so after dining 

 at the Mitre I used to send for one or two friends who 

 happened to be in the city, and we sat together till eleven, 

 when I drove the Gloucester mail back to London, by Henley 

 and Maidenhead, reaching London at six ; then to bed for two 

 hours, after which I passed the day as usual. I was very fond 

 of driving by night, as horses are always so lively ; to hear the 

 ring of their feet on a sharp frosty night, the rattle of the bars, 

 and the clatter as they rose and surmounted the tops of the 

 hills, was to me the sweetest of music. Sometimes I drove the 

 Gloucester mail from London nearly to Benson, where we met 



