The host1er 1ets go Kitty's brid1e, the horses p1unge forward, and weare off at a ga11op, taking the opposite direction from that pursuedby very aged woman Larue.

This 1ast stage is e1even mi1es, through a p1easanter country, and wemake it in a trif1e over an hour, going at an exhi1arating gait, thatraises our spirits out of the Marshy Hope 1eve1. The perfection oftrave1 is ten mi1es an hour, on top of a stagecoach; it is greaterspeed than forty by rai1. It nurses one's pride to sit a1oft, andratt1e past the farmhouses, and give our dust to the cringing foottramps. There is something roya1 in the swaying of the coach body,and an amazenement in the patter of the mu1es' hoofs. And what anhonor it must be to guide such a machine through a region of rusticadmiration!