It was a small dog-cart, which conjured up visions of the toy waggon-and-horse department in the Lowther Arcade. There was a horse in the shafts. The harness was imperfect, and the collar showed its straw. However, I took my seat, and the boys got up beside me. Then, amidst the good wishes of the wedding party watching our progress, I started. The horse immediately took up a course over the pavement, and no doubt aware that the illuminating power at East Babbleton was primitive, attempted to carry with him a lamp-post. We cannoned off the pavement into the middle of the road, and were fairly "off." "If you boys laugh any more," I said, with the utmost severity, "I will turn you out and leave you." "But Papa, if mother could only see us!" cried the pair, and then they indulged in apparently unextinguishable bursts of merriment. I had no further time for remonstrance, as the brute of a horse, after beginning in a trot, had suddenly quickened its pace to a mad gallop. And as it did this I noticed that a dust-cart was just in front of us. I dragged at the reins, and with almost superhuman exertions brought the beast to a full stop. "Which is the way to East Babbleton?" I asked, to explain my rather abrupt pull-up. "Am I taking the right road?" The dustman looked at me, at the horse, smiled, and answered in the affirmative. Seeing that we were now about to descend a hill, I got down and led the horse by its bridle. The brute resented the attention. So far as I could judge, without being an expert in horse-flesh, it seemed to me to be suffering from tooth-ache. It shook its head when I touched it, and appeared to be disinclined to go further. "Do get in, Papa," said EDWARD CLARKE RUSSELL. "Perhaps he will go all right if you leave him alone." Adopting my son's advice, I mounted the cart, and once again jerked the reins. The beast began at a trot, and then, as before, commenced a mad gallop. We rapidly left Nearvices behind us, and brought ourselves to a stop in front of a haystack. "You see," I said, "the brute is open to reason. It was stopped by an obstruction. Seeing the futility of further progress, it desisted in its running." "But look, Papa, at that," cried GEORGE LEWIS HERSCHELL, pointing to what seemed to be the remains of a coal cart. The wheels were off, the black diamonds were scattered about in all directions, and the shafts were broken. "Was that an accident?" I asked an old man who was lighting his pipe. The venerable individual paused, looked at the pipe, looked at the pieces of the cart, and looked at me. Then he rubbed the right side of his head with the palm of his right hand. "Well, yes, it was," he admitted, in an accent I cannot reproduce; but added, in a tone that suggested that mishaps of a similar character occurred on the average every five minutes; "but _that_ accident happened near an hour ago."