llyho_ or _Highflier_, all
flaunting with green and gold, came up alongside of us. What a contrast to
our royal simplicity of form and color is this plebeian wretch! The single
ornament on our dark ground of chocolate color was the mighty shield of the
imperial arms, but emblazoned in proportions as modest as a signet-ring
bears to a seal of office. Even this was displayed only on a single panel,
whispering, rather than proclaiming, our relations to the state; whilst the
beast from Birmingham had as much writing and painting on its sprawling
flanks as would have puzzled a decipherer from the tombs of Luxor. For some
time this Birmingham machine ran along by our side--a piece of familiarity
that seemed to us sufficiently jacobinical. But all at once a movement of
the horses announced a desperate intention of leaving us behind. "Do you
see _that_?" I said to the coachman. "I see," was his short answer. He was
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 ripe, he unloosed, or, to
speak by a stronger image, he sprang his known resources, he slipped our
royal horses like cheetas, 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 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 connection with what followed. A
Welshman, sitting behind me, asked if I had not felt my heart burn within
me during the continuance of the race? I said--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 perhaps," I replied, "though