l68 ON THE TRACK OF THE MAIL-COACH 



to Tyttenhanger, in the old way. But it was a street 

 the whole way to Barnet, and, w^hen the people saw 

 the white horses and postillions in blue, they came 

 crowding round.' 



North of Chipping Barnet there has been no change 

 to speak of. On Telford's road to St. Albans the 

 houses cease abruptly at the edge of the town. There 

 was until lately but a solitary house — the Green 

 Dragon Inn — between Barnet and South Mims, a 

 distance of quite three miles. 



On the York road some houses have been built, 

 and although at night the way is solitary for the 

 two miles which lie between Hadley High stone and 

 Potter's Bar school-house, yet occasional residences 

 dot its eastern side, and cheer the wayfarer by day. 



But Chipping Barnet itself has altered past recog- 

 nition. Trees w^ave in the thoroughfares ; it coquets 

 with the electric lamp. A new town has sprung up. 

 Gone are most of the posting-houses ; the Green Man 

 has been razed to the ground ; the extensive stables 

 which the vast traffic of the great highway in the old 

 coaching days had called into existence can hardty be 

 traced ; the very troughs which watered the thirsty 

 draught - horses of the numberless stage - waggons 

 journeying along the road are there no longer. Even 

 the cage for misdemeanants has disappeared, although 

 the stocks survive. 



After many years of depression and inactivity, a 

 slice of good luck aroused the slumbering energies of 

 the town : the railway was extended to its very doors ; 



