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CHAPTER II. The Mail

It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in

November, before the first of the persons with whom this history

has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover

mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked up hill in the

mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did;

not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under

the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the

mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three

times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach

across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to

Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in

combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose

otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute

animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and

returned to their duty.