"The poet's adage, 'All the world's a stage,'
Has stood the test of each revolving age;
Another simile perhaps will bear,
'Tis a _Stage-coach_, where all must pay the fare;
Where each his entrance and his exit makes,
And o'er life's rugged road his journey takes.
Some unprotected must their tour perform,
'And bide the pelting of the pitiless storm:'
While others, free from elemental jars,
By fortune favour'd, and propitious stars,
Secure from storms, enjoy their little hour,
Despise the whirlwind, and defy the shower.
Such is our life,--in sunshine or in shade,
From evil shelter'd, or by woe assay'd:
Whether we sit, like Niobe, all tears,
Or calmly sink into the vale of years:
With houseless, naked Edgar, sleep on straw,
Or keep, like Cæsar, subject worlds in awe,--
To the same port our devious journeys tend,
Where airy hopes and sickening sorrows end;
Sunk every eye, and languid every breast,
Each wearied pilgrim sighs, and sinks to rest."--E.
[Illustration: THE COUNTRY INN YARD.]
Among the writers of English novels, Henry Fielding holds the first
rank. He was the novelist of nature, and has described some scenes
which bear a strong resemblance to that which is here delineated.
The artist, like the author, has taken truth for his guide, and
given such characters as are familiar to all our minds. The scene
is a country inn yard, at the time passengers are getting into a
stage-coach, and an election procession passing in the background.
Nothing can be better described; we become of the party.--The vulgar
roar of our landlady is no less apparent than the grave, insinuating,
imposing countenance of mine host. Boniface solemnly protests that a
bill he is presenting to an old gentleman in a laced hat is extremely
moderate. This does not satisfy the paymaster, whose countenance
shows that he considers it as a palpable fraud, though the Act
against bribery, which he carries in his pocket, designates him to
be of a profession not very liable to suffer imposition: they are in
general "less sinned against than sinning." An ancient lady getting
into the coach is, from her breadth, a very inconvenient companion
in such a vehicle; but to atone for her rotundity, an old maid of a
spare appearance, and in a most grotesque habit, is advancing towards
the steps.
A portly gentleman, with a sword and cane in one hand, is deaf to
the entreaties of a poor little deformed postilion, who solicits
his customary fee. The old woman smoking her short pipe in the
basket, pays very little attention to what is passing around her:
cheered by the fumes of her tube, she lets the vanities of the
world go their own way. Two passengers on the roof of the coach
afford a good specimen of French and English manners. Ben Block, of
the _Centurion_, surveys the subject of _La Grande Monarque_ with
ineffable contempt.
In the window are a very curious pair: one of them blowing a French
horn, and the other endeavouring, but without effect, to smoke away
a little sickness, which he feels from the fumes of his last night's
punch. Beneath them is a traveller taking a tender farewell of the
chambermaid, who is not to be moved by the clangour of the great
bar-bell, or the more thundering sound of her mistress's voice.
The background is crowded with a procession of active citizens; they
have chaired a figure with a horn-book, a bib, and a rattle, intended
to represent Child, Lord Castlemain, afterwards Lord Tylney, who,
in a violent contest for the county of Essex, opposed Sir Robert
Abdy and Mr. Bramston. The horn-book, bib, and rattle are evidently
displayed as punningly allusive to his name.[176]
Under the sign of an angel, who seems dancing a minuet on a cloud, is
inscribed, "The Old Angle In Toms Bates from London."
Some pains have been taken to discover in what part of Essex this
scene is laid; but from the many alterations made by rebuilding,
removal, etc., it has not been positively ascertained, though it is
probably Chelmsford.