Every little failure of the railways raised our spirits and gave strength to the hope that they would fail, as all attempts to utilize steam upon ordinary roads had hitherto done. At first, they were unable to keep time in frosty weather, as the driving-wheels kept turning round and round on the same spot of the slippery rail. In the beginning of January, in the year 1838, I was travelling down to Shrewsbury by the Holyhead mail. It was the first night of the long frost and snow-up of that winter, which continued for two months, and the roads were so much blocked up with snow, that for a few days the coachmen and guards held a sort of wake at Dunchurch. On the night I travelled down the frost set in exceedingly sharp, and the only up mail that kept time was the Holyhead, which had come by road the whole distance through North Wales. The other mails, whose bags had been brought to Birmingham by what was then called the Grand Junction Railway, were after time, as the trains could make but slow progress on the slippery rails. The coachman and I, two silly creatures as we were, made ourselves happy with the conviction that railways must always be a failure for fast work, and that the coaching business was not in such great danger after all. No doubt this opinion was entertained by a good many others, and led to losses, by inducing some coach proprietors to oppose the railways instead of coming to terms with them. It was on this journey, if I recollect rightly, that I had my last experience of that conveyance, long since quite lost to sight, and now nearly so to memory, that perhaps I may be pardoned if I linger for a few moments to raise it, or its ghost, before the eyes of the present generation, especially as I have seen some not very accurate descriptions of them. The old hackney coach, though frousty and damp, was generally roomy and easy, as it had nearly always commenced its career in gentlemen's service, and had consequently been built by one of the best coachmakers of the day, and so far was decidedly better than the modern "bounder." It carried about it a character of decayed respectability, not to say grandeur, and upon entering one of them it was not impossible for a gentleman to be greeted by his own quarterings upon the panel. They were as ramshackling looking things as could be imagined, with occasionally, wheels of different colours, and the horses and coachman, together with his clothes, seemed made to match.