The guard went the whole way with his coach; the coachman’s “stage” was generally forty or fifty miles out and home again. The latter’s wages were supplemented by tips from the passengers, who were admonished that the time had come to open their purses by the coachman’s polite “Gentlemen, I leave you here.” The money thus collected by the driver of a first-class coach amounted, it is said, to £200 or £300 a year. The coachman was subject to numerous regulations which aimed at the security of passengers and mails. He might not allow anyone else to drive, without the consent of the coach proprietor or against the wishes of the other passengers; he might not leave his box unless a man was at the leaders’ heads; and there were many such minor instructions to be observed. Until about 1815 the coachman’s box was not part of the body of the vehicle, and while the passengers rode comfortably on springs the unfortunate driver had a seat as comfortless as want of springs could make it. When this was done away with, it was quite in accord with British traditions that strong objections should be made, the chief being founded on the idea that if the coachman were made so comfortable he would go to sleep on his box. The Manchester Telegraph, celebrated as one of the smartest coaches of the day, was the first which was thus altered. The guard was responsible for the punctuality of the coach, and each evening when leaving the General Post Office he was handed a watch officially set and officially locked in a case in such wise that it could not be tampered with. The guard also carried what was called a “snow book” from the fact that entries therein were most usually caused by heavy snowstorms. In this he recorded any such incidents as the hire of extra horses when these might be needed, of saddle horses to carry the mail bags forward if the coach came to grief, or of any other outlay. “THE ROAD” IN WINTER. Mention of the guard’s “snow book” suggests that a winter’s journey in the coaching days was an undertaking not to be lightly faced. One morning in March, 1812, the Bath coach arrived at Chippenham with two outside passengers frozen to death in their seats, and a third in a dying state. A snow shovel strapped behind his seat was a regular item of the guard’s winter equipment, but only too often a shovel was useless. In the winter of 1814, the Edinburgh mail had to be left in the snow and the mail bags forwarded to Alnwick on horseback; in the same week eight horses were needed to draw the York coach to Newcastle. When a coach was snow-bound it was the guard’s duty to get the mails forward; this he did when possible by taking two of the horses and riding one while the other carried the bags. Some of the best of Pollard’s coaching pictures represent such incidents as occurred in the severe winters of 1812, 1814, and 1836.