'He was seated with his back to the horses--his teeth set grim as death--his eyes cast down towards the ground, thinking the less he saw of his danger the better. There was what is called a top-heavy load--perhaps a ton of luggage on the roof, and it may be not _quite_ in obedience to the Act of Parliament standard.[9] There were also two horses at wheel, whose strides were of rather unequal length, and this operated powerfully on the coach. In short, the lurches of the Regulator were awful at the moment of the Comet meeting her. A tyro in mechanics would have exclaimed, "The centre of gravity must be lost, the centrifugal force will have the better of it--_over she must go_!" 'The centre of gravity having been preserved, the coach arrived safe at Hartford Bridge; but the old gentleman has again had enough of it. "I will walk into Devonshire," said he, as he descended from his perilous exaltation. "What did that rascally waiter mean by telling me this was a slow coach? and moreover, look at the luggage on the roof!" "Only regulation height, sir," says the coachman; "we aren't allowed to have it an inch higher; sorry we can't please you, sir, but we will try and make room for you in front." "_Fronti nulla fides_," mutters the worthy to himself, as he walks tremblingly into the house--adding, "I shall not give this fellow a shilling; he is dangerous." 'The Regulator being off, the waiter is again applied to. "What do you charge per mile posting?" "One and sixpence, sir." "Bless me! just double! Let me see--two hundred miles, at two shillings per mile, postboys, turnpikes, etc., £20. This will never do. Have you no coach that does not carry luggage on the top?" "Oh yes, sir," replies the waiter, "we shall have one to-night that is not allowed to carry a band-box on the roof."[10] "That's the coach for me; pray what do you call it?" "The Quicksilver mail, sir; one of the best out of London--Jack White and Tom Brown, picked coachmen, over this ground--Jack White down to-night." "Guarded and lighted?" "Both, sir; blunderbuss and pistols in the sword-case;[11] a lamp each side the coach, and one under the foot-board--see to pick up a pin the darkest night of the year." "Very fast?" "Oh no, sir, _just keeps time, and that's all_." "That's the coach for me, then," repeats our hero; "and I am sure I shall feel at my ease in it. I suppose it is what used to be called the Old Mercury."