"Many years ago," says my friend, "I took up my residence for a short time at the 'Kentish Hotel' in Tunbridge Wells--the best hotel there, and at that time there were very few houses built upon the Common. After stopping there some time, the season ended, and the exodus of visitors had commenced, I took the box seat on Stockdale's coach. I must tell you he had been a large publisher in Piccadilly, but failed, and then took to the road, this being the first coach he had driven, and being part proprietor. He was an exceedingly good amateur whip, but still, not a first-rate artist, as he would try to make you believe. "A short time before we started, a lady with her maid, who had been stopping in the hotel, sent her luggage to be placed on the coach, and upon Stockdale seeing it, he said to the porter, 'How many passengers, Tom?' 'Two, sir,' says Tom. 'Scale it, Tom,' says he, which he immediately did. When twelve shillings was demanded for extra luggage, the lady said, 'I never paid it before, and have taken two inside places.' 'You see, _ma'ame_,' says he, 'I horse this coach over Maramscote hill, and I cannot carry your luggage for nothing; you will bring the kitchen range next time if you have nothing to pay.' "Having seated myself very comfortably on the box seat, our friend Stockdale and myself lit our cigars, going at a fair pace till we were descending Maramscote hill, the skid-pan being on the wheel. The wheel horses did not step well together, and we rocked very considerably, which led me to observe he had better be careful, or he would put the passengers down to count them. Upon this he turned round to me, looking daggers, and asked me to look what was painted on the board at the side of the hill, and looking, I read, '_Dry rubbish may be thrown here_.' You may be sure I did not offer any more advice for the remainder of the stage; but our _contretemps_ soon cooled down, and when we were changing horses, 'I say, governor!' says he, 'forget the dry rubbish, and come in and take a little cold brandy and water. It's the only place I ever go into on the road, for it's the only place where you can escape being poisoned.' After our refreshment we went at a very jolly pace, having Robert Nelson's horses, which were first-rate, and soon arrived at the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, where we found a great bustle of coaches, and luggage just come by other coaches, arriving from different parts of the country, and porters were calling out, 'Any passengers for Leeds "Courier," "Hope," "Halifax,"'" etc., etc.