I well recollect the "yard of tin"; indeed, when a youth, I possessed one, and flattered myself I could blow it pretty well. Such, indeed, was my passion for the road, that I was not satisfied till I could perform every feat performed by coachmen or guards. To pass from the back of the coach to the front, or _vice versa_, was sometimes accomplished by guards, and, of course, I must do the same, creeping between the hind wheel and the body, whilst the coach was proceeding at the rate of ten miles an hour. This was not a very easy performance, but to get up and down whilst the coach was in motion was not at all difficult, and doing this once led to my being mistaken for a professional guard. I was travelling through North Wales, from Oswestry to Bangor, by a pair-horse coach, which, of course, did not aspire to much pace, and, as the day was wet, the road was heavy, which brought the two-horse power to a walk up some of the hills, slight as Mr. Telford's engineering skill had made them. Upon these occasions I got down to walk, and as my pace was faster than that of the horses, I was part way down the next hill before they overtook me, when, motioning to the coachman not to pull up, I returned to my seat by his side, and after having done this once or twice he said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but were you ever a guard on any coach?" It is somewhat strange that Mr. Reynardson and I should both have good reason for remembering the Llanymynech toll-bar, but its existence was nearly being impressed on my mind by a far more serious accident than killing poor piggy. Many years ago, about the year 1836, before I had the honour of wearing His Majesty's uniform, I used to indulge my love of driving by starting from my father's house, about three miles from Welshpool, about five o'clock in the morning, and walking to that town for the pleasure of driving the "Royal Oak" coach, which started at six, and returning the same day by the down coach. Thereby getting a drive of about eighty miles, and the pace was fast, especially if the "Nettle" was supposed to be near, for we knew by experience that it followed very quickly; so there was pretty well enough of practice to be had. On one of these mornings, when we were about two miles on our journey, Harry Booth, the coachman, who was sitting by my side, whistled to the horses, which started them off beyond my powers of holding them. I said, "For goodness' sake be quiet," when he coolly replied, "I thought you wanted to drive." Fortunately, however, they came back to me after going a short distance, and we completed the nine miles to Llanymynech in thirty-five minutes from the start. This was, perhaps, a rather rough way of learning to drive, and something like throwing a fellow into deep water to teach him to swim. At any rate, it taught me to gallop, and a coachman who could not do that was of little use on a good many coaches in those days.