of conveying the mails by post coaches, that
should perform their journey at the average
rate of from eight to ten miles an hour—
flying coaches indeed!

Mail coaches, and flying coaches are alike
seen no longer, and their haps and mishaps
are among the things passed away for
ever. Sometimes amusing incidents occurred
during these long journeys; and the very
upsets, the stickings fast in the mud, and
alarms of highwaymen, formed stories to
amuse stay-at-home friends, or news-loving
gentlemen at the evening clubs. Sometimes,
these annoyances produced more important
results, as about a hundred and twenty
years ago, Mr. W. found.

Mr. W., for it is only by his initial letter
that he has been handed down to posterity,
was a London merchant, well to do, in the well-
to-do days of George the First: a merchant over
whom the storms of life had passed lightly.
He was the eldest son of a merchant, and as
his only brother had evinced more inclination
for roaming than for the quiet pursuits of
the counting-house, his father bought him a
commission in the army, and bequeathed the
prosperous business to the elder son. These
boys had been strongly attached in childhood,
and until the father's death; when a slight
difference produced a bitter quarrel, and the
brothers parted, determined to see each other
no more. The younger went abroad with his
regiment. It was said he went to
America, and then, the elder altogether lost sight
of him, while he, in the old house in Great
St. Helens, passed thirty years of thrifty toil,
not wholly unrelieved by holidays, but holidays
which were only of a single day, and
which extended no farther than Chelsea, and
Hornsey, save on one memorable occasion,
when he stretched as far as Epping, and actually
spent three days beyond the hearing of
Bow bells. At length a summons came for
Mr. W. to undertake a veritable journey—a
journey to Nottingham, where a cousin
resided; and, as Mr. W. believed this cousin to be
his nearest relation now, and was anxious to
aid him in arranging his affairs, as he had
a large family, the journey of one hundred
and twenty-six miles was determined upon.
Mr. W. and his friends were very careful
as to the particular coach to which he should
commit himself, and at length they fixed
upon the Wonder: a new stage and six,
being a stout machine for half-a-dozen insides,
newly built, with a careful driver, and strong
horses. Punctually at six o'clock one fine
summer morning, Mr. W. got into his place,
and jolted off from the Axe Inn, Aldermanbury.
On went the travellers (four precious
insides) pleasantly and safely, to the village of
Market Street, but here the Wonder showed
signs of failure. At Dunstable the blacksmith
was summoned; but his opinion could
not be obtained by the passengers, it being
reserved exclusively for the coachman's
private ear. They entered the dreary, dingy,
grey district, which marked that especial
trial to the wheels and axle-trees of flying
coaches, the Chalk Hills. But, if they,
ascended one side of each eminence slowly
they descended the other quickly enough,
and Mr. W. eyed every hill that rose
before them very gloomily. But, thanks to the
shoeless children who ran along beside them,
scotching the wheels with small stones,
they got on very well going up hill; but,
down hill, the coach whirled along faster and
faster; and at last actually overturned.
Fortunately it came down on a soft
  place—a bank of green turf. The passengers
were soon extricated from their prison.
Mr. W. found he had escaped unhurt, but two
of the four insides were severely bruised. As
to the Wonder, it lay with battered sides and
broken axle-tree, and all chance of further
conveyance by that machine was given up as
impossible.

What was to be done? "Wait for the next
coach that came past," said the coachman,
"and, if there was room, go on in it." The
two unhurt passengers resolved to avail
themselves of the suggestion; and, before long a
coach was seen descending the unlucky hill,
It was hailed, there was room for two insides,
Mr. W, and the other passenger took their
places in the London Express, and away
they went. The insides consisted of two
countrymen, a lady very handsomely dressed,
who displayed a gold snuff-box—most ladies
took snuff then—and a young woman
very plainly attired, but pleasing, and ladylike.

The chalk hills were safely surmounted, and
the travellers went on pleasantly enough to
Woburn. But there was danger now of being
stuck fast in the Woburn Sands—indeed, if the
waters were at all out, of being plunged into a
mud bath. The Express toiled along, and the
wheels were deeply and more deeply imbedded
in wet gravel. The lady cast an anxious
look towards the basket behind, and yet
more anxiously observed the water leaking
in at the ill-closed doors. They sunk
deeper and deeper into the mire, and
only by the aid of a countryman's team of
horses was the Express pulled out upon
terra firma. The passengers alighted, wet
and angry, and bemired almost to the knees;
but the young woman bore the annoyance
quietly; and when Mr. W., who had been
struck with her gentle manners, expressed a
hope that her luggage had received no injury
she smiled mournfully: "It is of no great
value," she said. The traces which had been
broken were quickly mended, and the coachman
summoned the passengers to re-enter.

"Yes, yes," said one of the gentlemen, "we
had need be quick, that we may pass the
next five or six miles before the sun goes
down."

"No danger of highwaymen here, I
presume?" said Mr. W.

"Why, that's far more than I can warrant,"