The horse harnessed in it is equally unlike the cart-horse.

A quick, wiry horse, that may be driven in a trap or gig, is the style--one that will rattle along and catch the train.
The driver takes his seat and handles the reins with the air of a man driving a tradesman's van, instead of walking, like the true old carter, or sitting on the shaft.

The vehicle rattles off to the station, where ten, fifteen, or perhaps twenty such converge at the same hour, and then ensues a scene of bustle, chaff, and rough language.

The tins are placed in the van specially reserved for them, the whistle sounds, the passengers--who have been wondering why on earth there was all this noise and delay at a little roadside station without so much as a visible steeple--withdraw their heads from the windows; the wheels revolve, and, gathering speed, the train disappears round the curve, hastening to the metropolis.

Then the empty tins returned from town have to be conveyed home with more rattling, thumping and booming of hollow tin--there to be carefully cleansed, for which purpose vast quantities of hot water must be ready, and coal, of course, must be consumed in proportion.
This beautiful afternoon the booming seems to sound more than usual; it may perhaps be the wind that carries the noise along.