first-class coachman.
We had several years of strong opposition, the rail decreasing the
distance every year, till it opened to Exeter. The "Nonpareil" was then
taken off, and they started a coach called the "Tally Ho!" against the
poor old "Telegraph." Both coaches left Exeter at the same time, and
this caused great excitement. Many bets, of bottles of wine, dinners for
a dozen, and five-pound notes, were laid, as to which coach would arrive
first at Plymouth. I had my old friend Harbridge again, as my
competitor. The hotel that I started from, was a little farther down the
street than the one whence the "Tally Ho!" appeared, so that as soon as
I saw my friend Harbridge mounting the box, I did the same, and made the
running. We had all our horses ordered long before the usual time.
Harbridge came sailing away after me; the faster he approached, the more
I put on the steam. He never caught me, and, having some trifling
accident with one of his horses over the last stage, he enabled me to
reach Plymouth thirty-five minutes before he came in. My guard, who
resided in St. Albans-street, Devonport, hurried home, and as the other
coach passed, he called out and asked them to stop and have some supper;
they also passed my house, which was a little farther on, in
Fore-street. I was sitting at the window, smoking, and offered them a
cigar as they passed--a joke they did not, of course, much relish. The
next night they declared they would be in first; but it was of no use,
the old "Telegraph" was not to be beaten. Thus it went on for several
weeks; somehow they were never able to get in first. We did the fifty
miles several times in three hours and twenty-eight minutes (that is, at
the average rate of a mile in four minutes and nine seconds, including
stoppages), and for months together, we never exceeded four hours.

Still, in every contest, one party must ultimately give in; that one,
however, was not the "Telegraph." We settled our differences, and went
on quietly for the remainder of the time, occasionally having a little
"flutter," as we used to call it in those days, but we were always good
friends. Should this narrative chance to meet the eye of some of those
who used to travel with us in bygone times, they will doubtless well
remember the pace we used to go.

After a few years, the railway opened to Plymouth, and many gentlemen
asked me to start a fast coach into Cornwall, promising to give it their
patronage; I accordi