are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of the post have
all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneaking pick-pockets.
There's no such thing as a dashing gentlemanlike robbery committed
now-a-days on the king's highway. A man may roll from one end of
England to the other in a drowsy coach or jingling post-chaise without
any other adventure than that of being occasionally overturned,
sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner.

"We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and robbed by a
well-mounted gang of resolute fellows with pistols in their hands and
crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical incident was it for
example in domestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a
country seat, to be attacked about dusk; the old gentleman eased of his
purse and watch, the ladies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a
politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the
hedge and galloped across the country, to the admiration of Miss
Carolina the daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of
The adventure to her friend Miss Juliana in town. Ah, sir! we meet with
nothing of such incidents now-a-days."

"That, sir,"--said my companion, taking advantage of a pause, when I
stopped to recover breath and to take a glass of wine, which he had
just poured out--"that, sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any
want of old English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of
banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they did formerly.
They have post notes and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like
catching a crow; where you have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers
for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish
galleon. It turned out the yellow boys bravely; and a private carriage
was a cool hundred or two at least."