is the same in the more complicated operations of life. Behold that
individual on a horse! See with what persevering alacrity he hobbles up
and down from the croupe to the pommel, while his horse goes quietly at
an amble of from four to five miles in the hour. See how his knees,
flying like a weaver's shuttle, from one extremity of the saddle to
another, destroy, in a pleasure-ride from Edinburgh to Roslin, the good,
gray kerseymeres, which were glittering a day or two ago in Scaife and
Willis's shop. The horse begins to gallop--Bless our soul! the gentleman
will decidedly roll off. The reins were never intended to be pulled like
a peal of Bob Majors; your head, my friend ought to be on your own
shoulders, and not poking out between your charger's ears; and your
horse ought to use _its_ exertions to move on, and not you. It is a very
cold day, you have cantered your two miles, and now you are wiping your
brows, as if you had run the distance in half the time on foot.

People think it a mighty easy thing to roll along in a carriage. Step
into this noddy. That creature in the corner is evidently in a state of
such nervous excitement that his body is as immovable as if he had
breakfasted on the kitchen poker; every jolt of the vehicle must give
him a shake like a battering-ram; do you call this coming in to give
yourself a rest? Poor man, your ribs will ache for this for a month to
come! But the other gentleman opposite: see how flexible he has rendered
his body. Every time my venerable friend on the coach-box extends his
twig with a few yards of twine at the end of it, which he denominates "a
whupp," the suddenness of the accelerated motion makes his great, round
head flop from the centre of his short, thick neck, and come with such
violence on the unstuffed back, that his hat is sent down upon the
bridge of his nose with a vehemence which might well nigh carry it away.
Do you say that man is capable of taking a _pleasure_ ride? Before he
has been bumped three miles, every pull of wind will be jerked out of