The roads were in an awful state, and during the first few miles out of Folsom slow progress was made. "Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "are you aware that I must be at Placerville at 7 o'clock to-night?" "I've got my orders!" laconically returned Henry Monk. Still the coach dragged slowly forward. "Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter.  I must be there at 7!" Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!" But the speed was not increased, and Mr. Greeley chafed away another half hour; when, as he was again about to remonstrate with the driver, the horses suddenly started into a furious run, and all sorts of encouraging yells filled the air from the throat of Henry Monk. "That is right, my good fellow!" cried Mr. Greeley.  "I'll give you ten dollars when we get to Placerville.  Now we are going!" They were indeed, and at a terrible speed. Crack, crack! went the whip, and again "that voice" split the air. "Git up!  Hi yi!  G'long!  Yip--yip!" And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a rate of speed never before achieved by stage horses. Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end of the coach to the other like an india-rubber ball, managed to get his head out of the window, when he said: "Do--on't--on't--on't you-u-u think we-e-e-e shall get there by seven if we do--on't--on't go so fast?" "I've got my orders!" That was all Henry Monk said.  And on tore the coach. It was becoming serious.  Already the journalist was extremely sore from the terrible jolting, and again his head "might have been seen" at the window. "Sir," he said, "I don't care--care--air, if we don't get there at seven!" "I've got my orders!"  Fresh horses.  Forward again, faster than before.  Over rocks and stumps, on one of which the coach narrowly escaped turning a summerset. "See here!" shrieked Mr. Greeley, "I don't care if we don't get there at all!" "I've got my orders!  I work for the California Stage Company, Ido.  That's wot I work for.  They said, 'git this man through by seving.' An' this man's goin' through.  You bet!  Gerlong!  Whoo-ep!" Another frightful jolt, and Mr. Greeley's bald head suddenly found its way through the roof of the coach, amidst the crash of small timbers and the ripping of strong canvas. "Stop, you ----maniac!" he roared. Again answered Henry Monk: "I've got my orders! Keep your seat, Horace!" At Mud Springs, a village a few miles from Placerville, they met a large delegation of the citizens of Placerville, who had come out to meet the celebrated editor, and escort him into town.  There was a military company, a brass band, and a six-horse wagon load of beautiful damsels in milk-white dresses representing all the States in the Union.  It was nearly dark now, but the delegation were amply provided with torches, and bonfires blazed all along the road to Placerville. The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of Mud Springs, and Mr. Monk reined in his foam-covered steeds.