You, reader, think that it would have been in your power to do so.  And I quarrel not with your estimate of yourself.  But, from the way in which the coachman’s hand was viced between his upper and lower thigh, this was impossible.  The guard subsequently found it impossible, after this danger had passed.  Not the grasp only, but also the position of this Polyphemus, made the attempt impossible.  You still think otherwise.  See, then, that bronze equestrian statue.  The cruel rider has kept the bit in his horse’s mouth for two centuries.  Unbridle him, for a minute, if you please, and wash his mouth with water.  Or stay, reader, unhorse me that marble emperor; knock me those marble feet from those marble stirrups of Charlemagne.

The sounds ahead strengthened, and were now too clearly the sounds of wheels.  Who and what could it be?  Was it industry in a taxed cart?  Was it youthful gaiety in a gig?  Whoever it was, something must be attempted to warn them.  Upon the other party rests the active responsibility, but upon us—­and, woe is me! that us was my single self—­rest the responsibility of warning.  Yet, how should this be accomplished?  Might I not seize the guard’s horn?  Already, on the first thought, I was making my way over the roof to the guard’s seat.  But this, from the foreign mails being piled upon the roof, was a difficult, and even dangerous attempt, to one cramped by nearly three hundred miles of outside travelling.  And, fortunately, before I had lost much time in the attempt, our frantic horses swept round an angle of the road, which opened upon us the stage where the collision must be accomplished, the parties that seemed summoned to the trial, and the impossibility of saving them by any communication with the guard.

Before us lay an avenue, straight as an arrow, six hundred yards, perhaps, in length; and the umbrageous trees, which rose in a regular line from either side, meeting high overhead, gave to it the character of a cathedral aisle.  These trees lent a deeper solemnity to the early light; but there was still light enough to perceive, at the further end of this gothic aisle, a light, reedy gig, in which were seated a young man, and, by his side, a young lady.  Ah, young sir! what are you about?  If it is necessary that you should whisper your communications to this young lady—­though really I see nobody at this hour, and on this solitary road, likely to overhear your conversation—­is it, therefore, necessary that you should carry your lips forward to hers?  The little carriage is creeping on at one mile an hour; and the parties within it, being thus tenderly engaged, are naturally bending down their heads.  Between them and eternity, to all human calculation, there is but a minute and a half.  What is it that I shall do?  Strange it is, and to a mere auditor of the tale, might seem laughable, that I should need a suggestion from the Iliad to prompt the sole recourse that remained.  But so it was.  Suddenly