Charles Dickens,
The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit
(1844)
“ Better than the gig! Why, here is a man in a gig coming the same way now. Look at him as he passes his whip into his left hand, chafes his numbed right fingers on his granite leg, and beats those marble toes of his upon the footboard. Ha, ha, ha? Who would exchange this rapid hurry of the blood for yonder stagnant misery, though its pace were twenty miles for one? Better than the gig! No man in a gig could have such interest in the milestones. No man in a gig could see, or feel, or think, like merry users of their legs. ”
