Excerpt from Felix Holt, the Radical
Five-and-thirty years ago the glory had not yet departed from the Old coach-roads: the great roadside inns were still brilliant with well-polished tankards, the smiling glances of pretty barmaids, and the repartees of jocose ostlers the mail still announced itself by the merry notes of the horn; the hedge-cutter or the rick-thatcher might still know the exact hour by the unfailing yet otherwise meteoric apparition of the pea-green Tally-ho or the yellow Independent; and el darly gentlemen in pony-chaises, quartering nervously to make way for the rolling swinging swiftness, had not ceased to re mark that times were finely changed since they used to see the pack-horses and hear the tinkling of their bells on this very highway.
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