Almost shaken to pieces, they arrived at their lodgings at Mrs. Elliot’s, in the Orange Grove, Bath. Sarah describes the rooms as small, but comfortable, “looking down Wade’s Passage and into the coffee-house, which is a guard to the windows, and very often prevents their approach.” She grumbles at the expense of their journey, but says provisions are cheap, fowls one shilling each. Jenny, her maid, had travelled by coach, a post-chaise of that time only holding two people. Here is a passage worthy of Fielding, “Jenny travelled down unspotted and pure with the old parson, who gave her no comfort, but one spiritual kiss upon getting to the end of their journey.” [Page heading: DANGERS OF A POST-CHAISE] Both Mrs. Cotes and Sarah suffered from the hardness of the post-chaise, and Sarah also hints that other _visible_ effects had been incurred which would last for days; hence fleas, if not worse, must have existed in it! Mrs. Montagu, in writing to condole with them, says, “It is a daring mind that ventures in a post-chaise. I wonder the partizans of these vehicles do not establish a broad bottom, and a competent share of cushion.” The vehicle was, from what I make out, a two-wheeled chaise. Mrs. Cotes’ footman had been directed to call, on his way back to London, on Mrs. Montagu. The style of speech of a servant of this period is shown in this passage-- “Mrs. Cotes’ man called very civilly, and brought me your last letter. ‘Pray, Mr. Thomas,’ says I, ‘did you leave the ladies well?’ ‘Yes, and very merry, Madam.’ ‘They had a good journey, I hope?’ ‘Yes, a very merry, Madam.’ ‘They were not at all afraid?’ ‘No, nothing but very merry, Madam.’ ‘Were they not tired when they came to their inns?’ ‘No, always very merry, Madam!’ At last Thomas’s account made me ‘so merry, Madam,’ I was forced to retire to laugh. “Your nephew gets his share of sunshine every day, his teeth tease him and produce the dew of sorrow on his little cheeks sometimes, but in a moment it is forgotten, and he is always lively, and in continual health: he is thought to grow like his mother, so I think I may cease to be handsome with a good grace, as I have transferred it to my offspring.... Your nephew is in his birthday suit, laughing so I can hear him through the doors; the usurpation and authority of those bandages called garments he is too full of Whig principles to approve of!” [Page heading: “PUNCH’S” CHARIOT] There were no babies’ carriages in those days, so little Punch drove out daily in the _chariot_, not to be confounded with the _coach_, a much larger vehicle.