“But to come back to coach-travelling--then you really knew if you were travelling or stopping at home; while now they pack you up under lock and key, in strong wooden boxes, such as we keep our horses in at the stable; and at the head of them they have a kind of long iron saveloy, full of nothing, which runs away with the lot like mad, belching and swearing all the way, taking sights at us poor coachmen just so,” putting his hand to his nose, “when we go by, as though we were a set of ragamuffins. Call that a gentlemanly way of travelling, sir! They make fun of all the passengers who are a little behind time, saying the like of this: ‘Don’t you wish you may get it?’ If you drop anything by accident, the deuce a bit will they stop to pick it up; and you are no sooner in than they turn you out, and pocket your money without blushing, the same as though they had dragged you about from morning till night, as we used to do in the good old time. That was indeed money honestly earned, sir!” “There certainly is a great deal of truth in your argument,” said I, laughing at his devotion to his old business. “Is it not brimful of truth, sir?” “Of course it is!” I was by this time about half frozen. “Ah, sir, you’re a gentleman, and know life as well as I do. Depend upon it, sir, coach-travelling is the best after all--no danger of being smashed to pieces or of breaking your limbs. Not the slightest accident ever can happen. Hallo!” said he, stopping the horses short, “what the deuce is the matter with that horse? Look out, Bob!” “Yes, sir; the old trace is broke again.” “The deuce it is! Well, we must mend it.” “You can’t--it’s broke in a fresh place, and we have no rope here.” The coachman getting down, unceremoniously threw the reins to me. “Hold them fast, sir.” “Well, well, my lad, you must run back and fetch another.” The snow was then falling heavily, and we had not got more than a mile on the road. In about forty minutes the boy returned, perspiring terribly, though covered with snow. “I’ve not been long, coachman, have I?” “Not been long, my lad--why, my cargo is nearly frozen to death!” “You’re right, coachman,” said an old gentleman. “And I promise you I will never travel by your coach again. This is the second time this month.” “Well, sir, we are not travelling now--we are at a stand-still, and no mistake.” “You may joke, but I don’t like it.” “No more do I,” said coachman; “so we are of the same opinion.” At this we all laughed, except the old gentleman. In a short time all was right again. The coachman had resumed his important position as well as the reins, which I abdicated to my great satisfaction, and we were on the move. “Very slippery, governor; my horses can scarcely keep their feet. Thank God, we are not in a hurry; we can do the journey much more comfortably.” “Excuse me,” said I, “if I do not hold exactly the same opinion as I did just now about the railway.” “My dear sir, are you in a hurry?” he asked.