good considerate driver
than I would go ten with some of these; it would take less out of me.

Another thing, they scarcely ever put on the brake, however steep the
downhill may be, and thus bad accidents sometimes happen; or if they do
put it on, they often forget to take it off at the bottom of the hill,
and more than once I have had to pull halfway up the next hill, with one
of the wheels held by the brake, before my driver chose to think about
it; and that is a terrible strain on a horse.

Then these cockneys, instead of starting at an easy pace, as a gentleman
would do, generally set off at full speed from the very stable-yard; and
when they want to stop, they first whip us, and then pull up so suddenly
that we are nearly thrown on our haunches, and our mouths jagged with
the bit--they call that pulling up with a dash; and when they turn a
corner they do it as sharply as if there were no right side or wrong
side of the road.

I well remember one spring evening I and Rory had been out for the day.
(Rory was the horse that mostly went with me when a pair was ordered,
and a good honest fellow he was.) We had our own driver, and as he was
always considerate and gentle with us, we had a very pleasant day. We
were coming home at a good smart pace, about twilight. Our road turned
sharp to the left; but as we were close to the hedge on our own side,
and there was plenty of room to pass, our driver did not pull us in. As
we neared the corner I heard a horse and two wheels coming rapidly down
the hill toward us. The hedge was high, and I could see nothing, but the
next moment we were upon each other. Happily for me, I was on the side
next the hedge. Rory was on the left side of the pole, and had not even
a shaft to protect him. The man who was driving was making straight for
the corner, and when he came in sight of us he had no time to pull over
to his own side. The whole shock came upon Rory. The gig shaft ran right
into the chest, making him stagger back with a cry that I shall never
forget. The other horse was thrown upon his haunches and one shaft
broken. It turned out that it was a horse from our own stables, with the
high-wheeled gig that the young men were so fond of.

The driver was one of those random, ignorant fellows, who don't even
know which is their own side of the road, or, if they know, don't care.
And there was poor Rory with his flesh torn open and bleeding, and the
blood streaming down. They said if it