The grave and holy brother
To God is saying mass;
But who shall tell his mother,
And who shall tell his lass?
THE RIDE TO LONDON.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
I.
When the coach came round with "London" blazoned in letters of
gold upon the boot, it gave Tom such a turn, that he was half
disposed to run away. But he didn't do it; for he took his seat
upon the box instead, and looking down upon the four grays felt
as if he were another gray himself, or at all events, a part of
the turn-out; and was quite confused by the novelty and splendor
of his situation.
And really it might have confused a less modest man than Tom to
find himself sitting next to that coachman; for of all the swells
that ever flourished a whip professionally, he might have been
elected Emperor. He didn't handle the gloves like another man,
but put them on--even when he was standing on the pavement, quite
detached from the coach--as if the four grays were, somehow or
other, at the ends of the fingers. It was the same with his hat.
He did things with his hat, which nothing but an unlimited
knowledge of horses and the wildest freedom of the road could
ever have made him perfect in.
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