THE ' QUICKSILVER' MAIL 25 



lighted \ '^ — ' Both, sir ; blunderbuss and pistols in the 

 sword-case ; a lamp each side the coach, and one 

 under the footboard — see to pick up a pin the darkest 

 night of the year.' — ' Very fast?' — ' Oh no, ^\Y,ju8t 

 keeps time, and that's all.' — ' That's the coach for me, 

 then,' says our hero. 



Unfortunately, the ' Devonport ' (commonly called 

 the ' Quicksilver') mail is half a mile faster in the hour 

 than most in England, and is, indeed, one of the 

 miracles of the road. Let us then picture this un- 

 fortunate passenger seated in this mail on a pitch- 

 dark nio-ht in November. It is true she has no 

 luggage on the roof, nor much to incommode her 

 elsewhere ; but she is a mile in the hour faster than 

 the ' Comet,' at least three miles quicker than the 

 'Kegulator.' and she performs more than half her 

 journey by lamplight. It is needless to say, then, 

 our senior soon finds out his mistake ; but there is no 

 remedy at hand, for it is dead of night, and all the 

 inns are shut up. The climax of his misfortunes then 

 approaches. He sleeps, and awakes on a stage called 

 the fastest on the journey — it is four miles of ground, 

 and twelve minutes is the time. The old o-entleman 

 starts from his seat, dreaming the horses are running 

 away. Determined to see if it is so, although the 

 passengers assure him it is ' all right,' and assure 

 him he will lose his hat if he looks out of window, he 

 docs look out. The next moment he raises his voice 

 in a stentorian shout : ' Stop, coachman, stop. I have 

 lost my hat and wig I ' The coachman hears him 

 not — and in another second the broad wheels of 

 a road wao-oon have for ever demolished the lost 



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