. A more unpromising night for a journey it was hard to
conceive. But in the course of the afternoon the horses had been well
roughed; and King (for such was the name of the shock-headed lad) was
very positive that he could drive us without misadventure. He was as
good as his word; indeed, despite a gawky air, he was simply invaluable
in his present employment, showing marked sagacity in all that concerned
the care of horses, and guiding us by one short cut after another for
days, and without a fault.

The interior of that engine of torture, the covered cart, was fitted
with a bench, on which we took our places; the door was shut: in a
moment, the night closed upon us solid and stifling; and we felt that we
were being driven carefully out of the courtyard. Careful was the word
all night, and it was an alleviation of our miseries that we did not
often enjoy. In general, as we were driven the better part of the night
and day, often at a pretty quick pace and always through a labyrinth of
the most infamous country lanes and by-roads, we were so bruised upon
the bench, so dashed against the top and sides of the cart, that we
reached the end of a stage in truly pitiable case, sometimes flung
ourselves down without the formality of eating, made but one sleep of it
until the hour of departure returned, and were only properly awakened by
the first jolt of the renewed journey. There were interruptions, at
times, that we hailed as alleviations. At times the cart was bogged,
once it was upset, and we must alight and lend the driver the assistance
of our arms; at times, too (as on the occasion when I first encountered
it), the horses gave out, and we had to trail alongside in mud or frost
until the first peep of daylight, or the approach to a hamlet or a
high-road, bade us disappear like ghosts into our prison.

The main roads of England are incomparable for excellence, of a
beautiful smoothness, very ingeniously laid down, and so well kept that
in most weathers you could take your dinner off any part of them without
distaste. On them, to the note of the bugle, the mail did its sixty
miles a day; innumerable chaises whisked after the bobbing post-boys; or
some young blood would flit by in a curricle and tandem, to the vast
delight and danger of the lieges. On them the slow-pacing waggons made a
music of bells, and all day long the travellers on horseback and the
travellers on foot (like happy Mr. St. Ives so little a while before!)