made no answer.  ‘Nearly thoroughbred,’ I continued; the coachman drew his breath, with a kind of hissing sound, through his teeth.  ’Come, young fellow, none of your chaff.  Don’t you think, because you ride on my mail, I’m going to talk to you about ’orses.  I talk to nobody about ‘orses except lords.’  ‘Well,’ said I, ’I have been called a lord in my time.’  ‘It must have been by a thimble-rigger, then,’ said the coachman, bending back, and half turning his face round with a broad leer.  ’You have hit the mark wonderfully,’ said I.  ’You coachmen, whatever else you may be, are certainly no fools.’  ‘We ain’t, ain’t we?’ said the coachman.  ’There you are right; and, to show you that you are, I’ll now trouble you for your fare.  If you have been amongst the thimble-riggers you must be tolerably well cleared out.  Where are you going?—­to—?  I think I have seen you there.  The fare is sixteen shillings.  Come, tip us the blunt; them that has no money can’t ride on my mail.’

Sixteen shillings was a large sum, and to pay it would make a considerable inroad on my slender finances; I thought, at first, that I would say I did not want to go so far; but then the fellow would ask at once where I wanted to go, and I was ashamed to acknowledge my utter ignorance of the road.  I determined, therefore, to pay the fare, with a tacit determination not to mount a coach in future without knowing whither I was going.  So I paid the man the money, who, turning round, shouted to the guard—­’All right, Jem; got fare to—­’; and forthwith whipped on his horses, especially the off hand leader, for whom he seemed to entertain a particular spite, to greater speed than before—­the horses flew.

A young moon gave a feeble light, partially illuminating a line of road which, appearing by no means interesting, I the less regretted having paid my money for the privilege of being hurried along it in the flying vehicle.  We frequently changed horses; and at last my friend the coachman was replaced by another, the very image of himself—­hawk nose, red face, with narrow-rimmed hat and fashionable benjamin.  After he had driven about fifty yards, the new coachman fell to whipping one of the horses.  ‘D—–­ this near-hand wheeler,’ said he, ’the brute has got a corn.’  ‘Whipping him won’t cure him of his corn,’ said I.  ’Who told you to speak?’ said the driver, with an oath; ’mind your own business; ’tisn’t from the like of you I am to learn to drive ‘orses.’  Presently I fell into a broken kind of slumber.  In an hour or two I was aroused by a rough voice—­’Got to —–­, young man; get down if you please.’  I opened my eyes—­there was a dim and indistinct light, like that which precedes dawn; the coach was standing still in something like a street; just below me stood the guard.  ‘Do you mean to get down,’ said he, ’or will you keep us here till morning? other fares want to get up.’  Scarcely knowing what I did, I took my bundle and stick and descended, whilst two people mounted.  ‘All right, John,’ said the guard to the coachman, springing up behind; whereupon off whisked the coach, one or two individuals who were standing by disappeared, and I was left alone.