No road can be plainer than from Doncaster to Ferrybridge. The postillion was a sharp intelligent fellow, that had been three years in his present service, and had travelled that stage at least three hundred times in that period. It was a remarkably fine evening in the middle of July. Nothing, therefore, appeared more unlikely than that he should miss his way. It has been often said, that example is more powerful than precept.--Early in the afternoon the travellers had ordered their Automedon into their presence, and, perhaps, foreseeing the probability of their own condition, had strongly interrogated him concerning his disposition to sobriety; his answers to their questions contained many asseverations in favour of his own temperance.--While he pocketed half a crown, which was given as a retaining fee, for the faithful and careful exertion of his professional skill, and swallowed a large bumper of brandy to the gentlemen’s health, he had averred that even his enemies could not say he was _predicted_ to liquor. In this declaration he might perhaps be correct, as the most competent witnesses were not his enemies but his friends. It would be a feeble gratitude which would confine itself to expressions of regard in the presence of the benefactor. The post-boy’s prayers and libations for the health and prosperity of the bountiful donors did not cease to flow in streams of ale as long as the half crown and consequential credit lasted. After these pious and benignant offerings he had mounted, and in this condition had taken the northern road. The horses, being less bereft of their senses than their rational companions, for several miles proceeded directly to the destined place. They had already made their way through the turnpikes, passed the delightful woods around Robin Hood’s well, with their leader snoaring on his seat, and arrived at Darrington, where a road branches off to the left. There a pull from their driver put them into a wrong direction. Instead of keeping directly in the new track, the horses, again left to their own discretion, entered a cross lane, and had not gone far in this path when they overturned the carriage in a ditch. This catastrophe soon recalled both the travellers and their guide from the state of oblivion by which it was caused. The effects, however, proved extremely different. The postillion himself, though he tumbled from his seat, was softly and easily received in a very useful repository, collected for fertilizing an adjacent field. One of the gentlemen, by being upper-most as the carriage fell, was by his companion prevented from being materially hurt; the other was greatly bruised, and upon more particular examination found unable to move his leg, which was concluded to be broken. The day had just closed in when this misfortune happened, and no light was to be seen to guide them to a village or hamlet, where they might obtain assistance. There were houses not far