"On these grounds it was gravely recommended that no public carriage should be permitted to have more than four horses, to start oftener than once a week, or to go more than thirty miles a day. It was hoped that, if this regulation were adopted, all except the sick and the lame would return to the old modes of travelling on horseback and by water. Petitions embodying such opinions as these were presented to the King in Council from several companies of the City of London, from several provincial towns, and from the justices of several counties." It is difficult to determine the exact period at which a stage-coach first appeared upon the road, for there is a wide difference between the stage-coach of the last century and the flying coaches of the previous one. Although the stage-coach may have improved in speed, its discomfort still existed, as may be gleaned from the following lines written by Dean Swift on his journey from London to Chester:-- "Resolved to visit a far-distant friend, A porter to the Bull and Gate I send, And bid the man at all events engage Some place or other in the Chester stage. The man returns--''Tis done as soon as said, Your Honour's sure when once the money's paid. My brother whip, impatient of delay, Puts too at three and swears he cannot stay.' (Four dismal hours ere the break of day.) Roused from sound sleep--thrice called--at length I rise, Yawning, stretch out my arms, half closed my eyes; By steps and lanthorn enter the machine, And take my place, how cordially, between Two aged matrons of excessive bulk, To mend the matter, too, of meaner folk; While in like mood, jammed in on t'other side, A bullying captain and a fair one ride, Foolish as fair, and in whose lap a boy-- _Our_ plague eternal, but _her_ only joy. At last, the glorious number to complete, Steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat; When soon, by every hillock, rut, and stone, In each other's faces by turns we're thrown. _This_ grandam scolds, _that_ coughs, the captain swears, The fair one screams, and has a thousand fears; While our plump landlord, trained in other lore, Slumbers at ease, nor yet ashamed to snore; And Master Dicky, in his mother's lap, Squalling, at once brings up three meals of pap. Sweet company! Next time, I do protest, Sir, I'd walk to Dublin, ere I ride to Chester!"