I will pass over a blissful week of preparation, including a journey
by van to Torpoint and by ferry across to Plymouth, where Miss
Plinlimmon bought me boots, shirts, collars, under-garments, a
valise, a low-crowned beaver hat for Sunday wear, and for week-days a
cap shaped like a concertina; where I was measured for two suits
after a pattern marked "Boy's Clarence, Gentlemanly," and where I
expended two-and-sixpence of my pocket-money on a piratical
jack-knife and a book of patriotic songs--two articles indispensable,
it seemed to me, to full-blooded manhood; and I will come to the day
when the Royal Mail pulled up before Minden Cottage with a merry
clash of bits and swingle-bars, and, the scarlet-coated guard having
received my box from Sally the cook, and hoisted it aboard in a
jiffy, Miss Plinlimmon and I climbed up to a seat behind the
coachman. My father stood at the door, and shook hands with me at
parting.

"Good luck, lad," said he; "and remember our motto: _Nil nisi recte!_
Good luck have thou with thine honour. And, by the way, here's half
a sovereign for you."

"Cl'k!" from the coachman, shortening up his enormous bunch of reins;
_ta-ra-ra!_ from the guard's horn close behind my ear; and we were
off!

Oh, believe me, there never was such a ride! As we swept by the
second mile stone I stole a look at Miss Plinlimmon. She sat in an
ecstasy, with closed eyes. She was, as she put it, indulging in
mental composition.

Verses composed while Riding by the Royal Mail.