74 STAGE-COACH AND MAIL IN DAYS OF YORE 



great " George " inn does a very large business, is 

 passed, and soon, along this flattest of flat roads, 

 that grim relic, Caxton Gibbet, rises dark and 

 forbiddini? ati^ainst the translucent evenino^ sky- 

 Does the troubled ghost of young Gat ward, 

 gibbeted here eighty years ago for robl)ing the 

 mail on this lonely spot, ever revisit the scene, 

 we wonder P 



The Avise, inscrutable stars hang trembling in 

 the sky, and the sickle moon is shining softly, 

 as, having passed Papworth St. Everard, we droji 

 gently down through Godmanchester and draw 

 up in front of the " George " at Huntingdon, 

 585 miles from Loudon, at ten o'clock. 



We take the opportunity afforded by the 

 change of filling our pocket-flasks with some rich 

 brown brandy of the right sort, and invest in some 

 of those very special veal-and-ham sandwiches for 

 which good Mrs. Ekin has been famous these 

 years past. Our coachman " leaves us here," and 

 we tip him eighteenpence apiece .when he comes 

 round to inform us of the fact. 



The new coachman, after some little conver- 

 sation Avitli the outgoing incumbent of the bench, 

 in Avhich Ave catch the remark made to the ncAv- 

 comcr that some articles or some persons are 

 "a pretty fair lot, taking 'em all round" — a 

 criticism that evidently sizes us up for the 

 benefit of liis confrere — climbs into his seat, and 

 giving us all a comprehensiA^e and impartial glance, 

 settles himself doAvn c()mfortabl3^ "All right, 

 Tom ? " he asks the guard OA'cr his shoulder. 



