were always made in our own carriage, as it
was exactly at that period when coaches had
ceased to run, and railways had not yet
thoroughly taken their place.

The vehicle was brought to our door about
ten o'clock in the morning, and we drove
leisurely to the city (not to distress the
horses), arriving there about half-past one.
At five o'clock—allowing time for rest and
baiting—we again took our seats, and got
home between eight and nine to tea or
supper. This is precisely what we had done,
to my knowledge, eighteen times during the
last nine years, and this is what Miss Granite,
in the early part of the April of which I am
writing, prepared to do again.

Our coach was old-fashioned, but
comfortable; a yellow chariot that would have
held six upon an emergency, but which
(except when Miss Granite placed it at the
disposal of a children's party) never held but
our two selves. Miss Granite used to sit by
herself on the broad cushion facing the driver,
as she could not ride with her back to the
horses; and I used to sit opposite, as she
always liked plenty of room. The two horses
were bony and majestic, and we never knew
what their full speed was, as it had never
been tried. The mare, Nancy, was rather
restive, but the other horse was easily
managed.

This was the equipage with which, on a
bright spring morning, like a summer's
morning, we started for London, the gipsy
king being elevated upon his novel throne,
the coach-box. He had driven us before
about the country, with more or less skill,
but this was his first metropolitan journey.
I had my misgivings, but it was useless to
express them.

We went on very well, even down Shooter's
Hill, until we got into the busy part of the
Old Kent Koad; and there I noticed the
wheels of heavy wagons very close to our
windows, and we received several severe
bumps. When we reached the Borough,
these signs of bad coachmanship became
more frequent; and we heard the sounds of
loud, angry, and laughing voices, the slashing
of whips across the top of our chariot, and
saw the meaning gestures of many omnibus-
drivers and hackney-cabmen. The passage
of London Bridge and King William Street
was an agony of terror to me, though aunt
seemed to bear it all very calmly. At
length we drew up at our destination, the
gipsy king received his half-a-crown and his
instructions, and we went about our business.

Punctually at our usual time (five o'clock)
we made our appearance to return, and we
found the gipsy king in readiness with the
vehicle. We took our seats; our monarch
mounted his throne; and, after considerable
difficulty in turning the horses' heads, during
which a dozen people seemed to volunteer
their services, we were at last fairly started
on the road home. The passage of the
Bridge and Borough seemed to have increased
tenfold in difficulty since the morning, and
yet our driver, as if by inspiration, flew
through all. Other drivers still looked at
us, and once I heard a shout, and felt a bump,
and saw a truck rolling over in the gutter;
but still we kept on our headlong course.
Aunt, whose nerves are like iron, had gone
fast asleep, and her body was jumping from
side to side like a puppet in a Punch and
Judy show. The horses had never been put
upon their mettle before, and they seemed
delighted and astonished at their speed. I
looked through the window behind me, and
saw the gipsy king flourishing his whip
above his head, and bumping up and down
on his throne, like a jockey riding a race.

We soon left the town far in our rear, and
still we kept on. Aunt had by this time
become thoroughly aroused, and half-
persuaded that something was wrong. All
attempts to arrest the course of the gipsy
king were unavailing, and Miss Granite was
about to break the glass, and try to pull the
wild driver from his seat, when a sudden
collision with some roadside obstacle shook
the vehicle like a jelly, cast us both into
each other's arms, and threw both the horses
on their haunches. We quickly recovered
ourselves, and seized the opportunity to
jump out, and question the gipsy king upon
such reckless behaviour. He had got his
horses on their legs again, and he was grinning
with a stupid leer of satisfaction.

"Samuel," said Miss Granite, with stern
decision, "you're intoxicated: where are
we?"

"Mum," returned Samuel, and he was
intoxicated, "you've done the—thing—s
right—byme, an'—the gip-'s—'art's
gra—grateful."

"Where are we? " again asked Miss
Granite, with extraordinary firmness, while
I trembled nervously, for we were on a bleak
common, and it was now nearly dusk.

"You know—me," returned the gipsy
king, confidentially, "my 'ome—sholly ole
green'ood tree! Am I right?"

"Samuel," returned Miss Granite, "my
home is Bexley town, and I insist upon being
taken there."

"Mum," stammered the gipsy king, with
much difficulty, and holding out his hand,
"this 'and's—a gip's—'and, but's never bin
stai—stained wi' crime." And then he
proceeded very clumsily to mount his coach-box,
singing all the while in a weak, shrill,
uncertain voice,

"Sa—a—a—fly fol—low 'im;
Sa—a—a—fly fol—low 'im."

"This is the teaching of those foolish girls
at home, aunt," I said, feeling that I must
say something, or faint.

"I don't know what it is, my dear,"
returned Miss Granite, "but I'm determined
we will not return home with that drunken