WESTWARD HO I 267 



peasants — their country's pride — even little children 

 who could scarcely toddle, had contracted the playful 

 habit of throwing stones. His Majesty's mails came 

 in for a share of these attentions, though in a less 

 degree than other vehicles. Still, a stone was just 

 as hard when thrown at the Eoyal Mail as if aimed at 

 the private barouche. Further, the more agile and 

 adult were in the habit of climbing the back of the 

 mail and hanging on to the guard's seat for miles. 

 When forced by him to quit their hold, a cheerful 

 volley of stones gave expression to dissent. 



Sometimes an occasional shot varied the monotony 

 of the road. On these pleasantries becoming known, 

 there were not wanting impetuous spirits who saw in 

 the attacks a lawlessness to be put down by force. 

 But cooler heads viewed them in a different light, and 

 wiser counsels prevailed. In stones, and even in 

 occasional shots, they recognised rather the signs of 

 a frolicsome spirit than any overt act of hostility. 



As for the irregular practice of young men climbing 

 up behind the coach, the sagacious Secretary of the 

 Post-Office in Dublin, Augustus Godby, hit on a 

 happy plan. All the guard had to do, he said, was 

 to lean over from his perch, lift the culprit's cap, and 

 fling it far back on the road. Then the hanger-on 

 was bound to quit his hold to pick up the unconsidered 

 trifle. 



If Cork and Queenstown are entirely different 

 places, being eight or ten miles apart, yet in all 

 accounts of the Irish mail-service the city and the 



