desperate intention of leaving us behind. "Do you see _that?_" I
said to the coachman.--"I see," was his short answer. He was wide
awake,--yet he waited longer than seemed prudent; for the horses of our
audacious opponent had a disagreeable air of freshness and power. But
his motive was loyal; his wish was that the Birmingham conceit should
be full-blown before he froze it. When _that_ seemed right, he
unloosed, or, to speak by a stronger word, he _sprang_, his known
resources: he slipped our royal horses like cheetahs, or hunting-
leopards, after the affrighted game. How they could retain such a
reserve of fiery power after the work they had accomplished seemed hard
to explain. But on our side, besides the physical superiority, was a
tower of moral strength, namely the king's name, "which they upon the
adverse faction wanted." Passing them without an effort, as it seemed,
we threw them into the rear with so lengthening an interval between us
as proved in itself the bitterest mockery of their presumption; whilst
our guard blew back a shattering blast of triumph that was really too
painfully full of derision.

I mention this little incident for its connexion with what followed. A
Welsh rustic, sitting behind me, asked if I had not felt my heart burn
within me during the progress of the race? I said, with philosophic
calmness, _No_; because we were not racing with a mail, so that no
glory could be gained. In fact, it was sufficiently mortifying that
such a Birmingham thing should dare to challenge us. The Welshman
replied that he didn't see _that_; for that a cat might look at a
king, and a Brummagem coach might lawfully race the Holyhead mail.
"_Race_ us, if you like," I replied, "though even _that_ has an
air of sedition; but not _beat_ us. This would have been treason;
and for its own sake I am glad that the 'Tallyho' was disappointed." So
dissatisfied did the Welshman seem with this opinion that at last I was