Mr. Harmon continued to abuse the post-boys’ heavy, high boots, and thick, bobbed queues, lashing from side-to-side unimpeded by the rusty Japan hat topping it all to no apparent purpose, save adding to the caricature of the spectacle. At length, the Darcys’ coachman was forced to abridge his patriotic comparisons as the diligence jumbled away, and his grooms announced that the horses had been put-to and were ready for his inspection.

Also differing from the smart English post-boys and the gleaming brass and leather of the carriage-horses, the Darcys found the voiturins exceedingly clumsy and queer-looking; the harness was chiefly of various kinds of ropes and cords, the collars looked like they had been made for elephants, and none had seen a brush or water for the duration of its existence. The guiding of the horses was accomplished by a postillion on the wheel horse, who held a varying assortment of these cords, shouted epithets, roared commands at the top of the lungs, all accompanied by the heavy boots with spurs, and an horn which seemed employed to no purpose save the amusement of his fellow voiturins. The man on the box lived only to crack the whip and shout, causing the horses to move in any direction save a straight line, dogs to bark, inhabitants to hasten to their doors, and such general confusion and noise that formed a concert far more irksome than agreeable. This was not the last instance that gave Mr. Darcy reason to hug himself in the choice of his own horses and servants.