“Posting in all its branches,” as the postmasters used to say in the announcements outside their establishments, was at the beginning of the nineteenth century essentially aristocratic; but it had many changes, from its beginning, about the dawn of the seventeenth century, to its end, before the middle of the nineteenth. Originally “posting” meant the hire of horses only, and the traveller rode horseback himself, accompanied perhaps by a mounted guide. Thus Fynes Morison, in his _Itinerary_, published in 1617, speaks of the early days of posting:—“In England, towards the south, and in the west parts, and from London to Barwick upon the confines of Scotland, post-horses are established at every ten miles or thereabouts, which they ride a false gallop after some ten miles an hour sometimes, and that makes their hire the greater; for with a commission from the chief postmaster or chiefe lords of the councell (given either upon publike businesse, or at least pretence thereof), a passenger shall pay twopence halfpenny each mile for his horse, and as much for his guide’s horse; but one guide will serve the whole company, though many ride together, who may easily bring back the horses, driving them before him, who ‘know the waye as well as a beggar knowes his dishe.’ This extraordinary charge of horses’ hire may well be recompensed with the speede of the journey, whereby greater expences in the innes are avoided; all the difficultie is, to have a body able to endure the toyle. For these horses the passenger is at no charge to give them meat onely at the ten miles, and the boy that carries them backe will expect some few pence in gift.” When carriages were introduced, the very great personages of the realm “progressed” in them, and had their love of display gratified thereby. But what they gained in pomp they lost in speed, for at the best of it they rarely travelled at a greater pace than seven miles an hour. An odd institution with the noble and the wealthy families of that bygone age was the “running footman.” It has sometimes been supposed that these deer-footed servitors were for town service, perhaps because “old Q,” the profligate Marquis of Queensberry, who was the last to keep one, lived in town during his last years and necessarily kept his lackey running London streets. The unique sign of the “running footman,” with the portrait of such an one in costume, is also in London, and may be seen any day on a little public-house, still chiefly frequented by men-servants, in Charles Street, Berkeley Square. He wears a uniform consisting of blue coat and breeches, trimmed with gold lace. Round his waist is a red sash, on his head a cap with a nodding plume, and in his hand the long staff carried by all his tribe. This is an outfit somewhat different from that usually worn, for we are told that they wore no breeches, but a short silk petticoat kept down by a deep gold fringe.