erations, and being free from
the annoyances of the "Aggerawayter," caused consternation to the minds
of coachman, guard, and passengers of the said mail, by riding abruptly
up, _a la_ highwayman, and demanding to speak to a passenger named Mr.
Jarvis Lorry, then on his way to Paris,--as faithfully chronicled in _A
Tale of Two Cities_. Again, in the early part of the present century,
when a certain friendless but dear and artless boy, named David
Copperfield,--who having been first robbed by a "long-legged young man
with a very little empty donkey-cart, which was nothing but a large
wooden-tray on wheels," of "half a guinea and his box," under pretence
of "driving him to the pollis," and subsequently defrauded by an
unscrupulous tailor named one Mr. Dolloby ("Dolloby was the name over
the shop-door at least") of the proper price of "a little weskit," for
which he, Dolloby, gave poor David only ninepence,--trudged along that
same Dover road footsore and hungry, "and got through twenty-three miles
on the straight road" to Rochester and Chatham on a certain Sunday; all
of which is duly recorded in _The Personal History of David
Copperfield_.

In after years, when happier times came to him, David made many journeys
over the Dover road, between Canterbury and London, on the Canterbury
Coach. Respecting the earliest of these (readers will remember Phiz's
illustration, "My first fall in life"), he says:--

"The main object on my mind, I remember, when we got fairly on the road,
was to appear as old as possible to the coachman, and to speak extremely
gruff. The latter point I achieved at great personal inconvenience; but
I stuck to it, because I felt it was a grown-up sort of thing."

In spite of this assumption, he is impudently chaffed by "William the
coachman" on his "shooting"--on his "county" (Suffolk), its "dumplings,"
and its "Punches," and finally, at William's suggestion, actually
resigns his box-seat in favour of his (William's) friend, "the
gentleman with a very unpromising squint and a prominent chin, who had a
tall white hat on with a narrow flat brim, and whose close-fitting drab
trousers seemed to button all the way up outside his legs from his boots
to his hips." In reply to a remark of the coachman this worthy
says:--"There ain't no sort of 'orse that I 'ain't bred, and no sort of
dorg. 'Orses and dorgs is some men's fancy. They're wittles and drink to
me--lodging, wife, and children--reading, writing, and 'r