I well remember, when I was at a private tutor's, at Littlewick-green, Maidenhead Thicket, and subsequently at Donnington-grove, near Newbury, and a bit of a swell, being greatly smitten with the saying of the above learned philosopher. I never got into a buggy, handled the ribbons, rattled the hired horse along at a crack-skull pace of twelve miles an hour, which generally ended in an upset, without reflecting on the above quoted authority which, being interpreted, means it is wormwood to be immersed in a wet ditch, but pleasant enough to get out again. Poor defunct Jem Revell, of the "Pelican," Newbury, was my tutor. Under his auspices I first mounted the box of a tandem, learned the elegant and indispensable accomplishment of driving that most dangerous vehicle, and studied the appalling manoeuvre of turning out of a narrow inn-yard into a densely populated street. Every day, after hours devoted to study, was my drive repeated, until in process of time inexperience was conquered, and, "with elbows squared, and wrists turned down," I could catch hold of the wheeler and leader, in grand style--remembering with Horace that "sæpe _stylum_ vertas," and give the go-by to less dashing whips, with a most condescending nod. At last, after serving a long and tedious apprenticeship, I reached the long-expected haven of success, and set up a dog-cart and pair on my own account. Never shall I forget that proud hour of my triumph when I made my first public essay out of the yard of the "Pelican," on my road to Reading races. I was accompanied by about five or six of my comrades on horseback, and by one or two aspiring Dennets, the drivers of which vainly essayed to beat my two thoroughbred nags. As we entered the town, for a young "chum" of mine, now long since gathered to his ancestors, sat by my side, the streets were lined with an infinite assemblage of peers and peasants, squires and blacklegs, sporting men and bettors, horse-dealers, jockeys, grooms, trainers, and cardsellers. However much it may tell against me--however greatly I may lower myself in the estimation of the reader--truth compels me to admit that my aspiring vanity metamorphosed the gaping crowd into admirers of myself and my turn-out; and when my companion sounded the mail-horn, when I cracked my whip and shook my head knowingly--well, _there was not much in that_, as a cynic will remark--I, with "all my blushing honours thick around me," felt as proud as any peacock that ever strutted in a poultry-yard. But, alas for human greatness! my pride was doomed to have a fall. Just as we approached the "Bear Inn" the leader became restive, turned round and stared me in the face, a mode of salutation by no means agreeable; then he began to lash out, and finally succeeded in upsetting us and breaking the shafts. Happily, we escaped unhurt in body, though not in feeling.