The postboy has been a person of importance—we say, has been; for, firstly, the flying stages, with their excellent accommodation, civil functionaries, and eleven miles an hour, more than decimated his "order;" then that northern leveller, Macadam, exacted a triple tithe; and lastly, the iron-ribbed troughs and viaducts, everywhere throwing out arteries from the main trunks, and every individual inch growing, like a chopped centipede, into a perfect monster,—have almost annihilated him, so much so, that the next generation will set him down as an extinct animal, and, like the present with the Dodo, will be able to find only his bill and his boots! Still doth he retain some dignity, for, at a late general election, he headed the poll gallantly for the independent and patriotic borough of Bullybribe; where the Right Honourable Florian Augustus Finglefangle offered golden reasons for the suffrages of his father's tenantry, and those real bulwarks of the British empire—the potwallopers. Notwithstanding, his glory has departed; those incorrigible dogs who rule the roast in the courts of law—cold, unyielding, unromantic civilians—have long decided not to recognise the mysteries of the Gretna smithy; they have openly denounced the votaries of Venus and Vulcan; and one great part of the postboy's occupation is no more.
Our postboy is not about to lead you, gentle reader, the tour of the Continent; he is not about to familiarise you with banditti; he has no forests nor horrible gorges to lead you through; you must expect little from him beside what we have prepared you for; and, as we have exposed his trifling peccadilloes, we entreat you not to let your virtuous indignation overcome your liberality nor your gentlemanly bearing. Probably, sir, you are fresh from the perpetration of rascalities which he would shrink from as being heinous crimes, but which you very complacently assure yourself were cleverly done to take in Messrs. Adderfeed and Co. You are a shrewd fellow, doubtless, and "are not to be done," as you believe in your self-sufficiency;—let him try to impose payment of a toll on you, which you have no business to pay, and you wish they may get it, that's all! Now, put it to your conscience—you have a conscience?—and compare your rascalities with his venialities: your "means and appliances" with his; and if conscience give the balance in your favour, why you are a worthy fellow, and ought not to be imposed on; but be careful; do not insist upon your bond; your memory may play truant, and, if it does not, you are certainly benevolent, nay, munificent, and will not stoop to such a paltry cavil. Remember he is ever at your beck and command, hail, rain, or shine; high-road or bye-road; at hazy morn, or fervid noon, or dreary night; you have but to intimate your pleasure, and he is your humble servitor. In the stifling heat and dust of midsummer, and in the dreary sleet and howling winds of Christmas, he is glad to administer to your business or pleasure. He never tires nor complains of his vocation. Thrice has he been out in this day's heavy rain—the whole of his wardrobe is soaked—a month ago he rose from a bed of fever, induced by the same cause—yet are you waiting, the moment you hear his wheels, to order him off for another sixteen miles, and not a murmur will escape him, although it is now six at eve, the sun setting, and the wind "turning very cold." Still will he lift his hat to you as deferentially as he did to his first fare, and comply with the same alacrity.
The thousands who pass him in his progress think not of his cares nor his sorrows, his abundance or his want. He toils and moils like the rest, unconscious that the eyes and the mind of the philosopher—bright scintillations of heaven and eternity—may rest upon him at the same moment with those of the humble individual who hath here noted his characteristics and sketched his profile. Jao.
"THE HORSE BY THE HEAD."
Mr. and Mrs. Q. were discussing their financial resources—"I cannot make out," said the lady, "how it is that Mr. X. contrives to keep such a large house and so many servants, and to live in such style. You are quite as clever, my dear, in your profession—ay, that you are—cleverer too, for that matter; and yet, with all your skill and perseverance, we are living, as it were, from hand to mouth. How is it?" "Why, my love," said Mr. Q., "you see that X. has got the start: in fact, you see, my dear, he has got 'the horse by the head,' and I have only got him by the tail."
