CHAPTER XVIII.

ANCIENT AND MODERN VEHICLES--PRACTICAL JOKES IN ENGLAND AND

FRANCE--FRENCH COACHES--DILIGENCES--THE MALLE-POSTE--CARRIAGES

IN THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV.--PORTE FLAMBEAUX--QUARRELS BETWEEN

RIVAL COACHMEN--AN ENGLISH STAGE-COACH IN FRANCE--CONCLUSION

285

CHAPTER I.

ANCIENT CHARIOTEERS--CELEBRATED WHIPS--INTRODUCTION OF

CARRIAGES INTO ENGLAND--MR. CRESSET'S PAMPHLET--THE STATE

OF THE ROADS IN 1739--DANGEROUS CONVEYANCES--THE FLYING

COACH OF 1669--DEAN SWIFT'S POETICAL LINES ON HIS JOURNEY TO

CHESTER--DISCOMFORTS OF INSIDE TRAVELLING--TRAVELLING IN BYGONE

DAYS.

CHAPTER I.

Before I allude to the road as it is, let me refer to what it was,

and in so doing bring my classical lore into play. Pelops was a

coachman, who has been immortalised for his ability to drive at the

rate of fourteen miles an hour by the first of Grecian bards. Despite

his ivory arm, he got the whip-hand of OEnomaus, a brother "dragsman"

in their celebrated chariot-race from Pisa to the Corinthian Isthmus,

owing more to the rascality of the state coachman, Myrtilus, whom he

bribed to furnish his master, the King of Pisa, with an old carriage,

the axletree of which broke on the course, than to his own coaching

merits.

Hippolytus, too, "handled the ribbons well," but "came to grief"

by being overturned near the sea-shore, when flying from the

resentment of his father. His horses were so frightened at the noise

of sea-calves, which Neptune had purposely sent there, that they ran

among the rocks till his chariot was broken and his body torn to

pieces.

Virgil and Horace sang the praises and commemorated the honours of

the "whips" of their day. Juvenal tells us of a Roman Consul who

aspired to be a "dragsman"--

"Volueri

Carpento rapitur pinguis Damasippus; et ipse

Ipse rotam stringit multo sufflamine Consul."

Again, I find the following lines:--

"Sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum

Collegisse juvat metaque fervidis

Evitata rotis, palmaque nobilis

Terrarum dominos evehit ad Deos."

Which may be thus rendered--"The summit of some men's ambition is to

drive four-in-hand."

Propertius, too, exclaims against the tandem as rivalling the

curricle--that is, according to some witty translators:--

"Invide tu _tandem_ voces compesce molestas.

Et sine nos cursu quo sumus _ire pares_."

Horace writes:--

"_Tandem_ parcas insane;"

and to those who drive this dangerous vehicle the following line may

not be inappropriate:--

"_Tandem_ discedere campis admonuit."

In addition to the above classical names, there were, early in the

present century, hundreds of whips who raised the character of

coachmen to the highest pinnacle of fame. Let me instance:--

Richard Vaughan, of the Cambridge "Telegraph," 'scientific in

horseflesh, unequalled in driving;' Pears, of the Southampton day

coach; Wood, Liley, Wilcocks, and Hayward of the "Wonder," between

London and Shrewsbury; Charles Holmes, of the Blenheim coach; Izaac

Walton, the Mæcenas of whips, the Braham of the Bath road; Jack

Adams, the civil and obliging pastor, who taught the young Etonians

to drive; Bramble, Faulkner, Dennis, Cross, and others, all of whom

have long since departed this life.

Many professional stage-coachmen were men of good education. Indeed,

not a few had received the advantage of a college education, and

could quote Latin and Greek in a manner that surprised some of their

companions. They could also tell a good story and sing a good song;

so that their society was much sought after, both on the box and in

the snug bar-parlour.

I will not here stop to discuss the question of rail and road, or to

lament that the "Light (coaches) of other days has faded," although

many a man's heart sinks to the axle when he thinks of the past, and

feels disposed to sympathise with Jerry Drag, "him wot drove," I

quote his own words, "the old Highflyer, Red Rover, and Markiss of

Huntley."

"Them as 'ave seen coaches," says this knight of the ribbons, "afore

rails came into fashion, 'ave seen something worth remembering;

them was happy days for Old England, afore reform and rails turned

everything upside down, and men rode as natur' intended they should,

on pikes with coaches and smart, active cattle, and not by machinery,

like bags of cotton and hardware; but coaches is done for ever, and

a heavy blow it is. They was the pride of the country, there wasn't

anything like them, as I've heerd gemmen say from forrin parts, to

be found nowhere, nor never will be again."

_Mais revenons à nos moutons_; my present object is to compare

coaching as it is with coaching as it was.

It may not here be uninteresting to mention that coaches were

introduced into England by Fitz Allan, Earl of Arundel, A.D. 1580,

before which time Queen Elizabeth, on public occasions, rode behind

her chamberlain; and she, in her old age, used reluctantly such an

effeminate conveyance. They were at first drawn by only two horses;

but, as a writer of those days remarks, "The rest crept in by

degrees, as man at first ventured to sea."

Historians, however, differ upon this subject, for it is stated by

Stow (that ill-used antiquary, who, after a long laborious life, was

left by his countrymen to beg his bread) that in 1564, Booner, a

Dutchman, became the Queen's coachman, and was the first that brought

the use of coaches into England; while Anderson, in his "History

of Commerce," says, on the other hand, that about 1580 the use of

coaches was introduced by the Earl of Arundel.

It was Buckingham, the favourite, who about 1619 began to have a

team of six horses, which "was wondered at as a novelty, and imputed

to him as a mastering pride." Before that time ladies chiefly rode

on horseback--either single, on their palfreys, or double, behind

some person, on a pillion. A considerable time elapsed before this

luxurious way of locomotion was enjoyed by more than a very few rich

and distinguished individuals, and a very much longer time before

coaches became general.

In the year 1672, at which period throughout the kingdom there were

only six stage-coaches running, a pamphlet was written and published

by Mr. John Cresset, of the Charterhouse, urging their suppression;

and amongst the grave reasons given against their continuance was the

following:--

"These stage-coaches make gentlemen come to London on every small

occasion, which otherwise they would not do but upon urgent

necessity; nay, the convenience of the passage makes their wives

often come up, who, rather than come such long journeys on horseback,

would stay at home. Then when they come to town they must presently

be in the mode, get fine clothes, go to plays and treats, and, by

these means, get such a habit of idleness and love of pleasure as

makes them uneasy ever after."

What would Mr. Cresset have said had he lived some forty years ago,

in the palmy days of coaching--coaches full, able dragsmen, spicy

teams, doing their eleven miles an hour with ease, without breaking

into a gallop or turning a hair? Or how surprised would the worthy

chronicler of 1672 be at the present annihilators of time and

space--the railroads, when "the convenience of the passage" enables

parties to come up to London from Liverpool, Birmingham, Manchester,

Bath, and Bristol in time for the play or opera, and return home for

dinner the following day.

In 1739 Pennant writes:--

"I travelled in the Chester stage to London, then no despicable

vehicle for country gentlemen. The first day, with much labour, we

got from Chester to Whitchurch (twenty miles), the second day to the

Welsh Harp, the third to Coventry, the fourth to Northampton, the

fifth to Dunstable, and, as a wondrous effort, on the last to London,

before the commencement of the night. The strain and labour of six

horses, sometimes eight, drew us through the slough of Mireden and

many other places. We were constantly out two hours before day, and

as many at night. Families who could afford to travel in their own

carriages contracted with Benson and Co., and were dragged up in the

same number of days by three sets of able horses."

These coaches must have been not only very lumbering, but very

dangerous conveyances, as the following newspaper paragraph, dated

the 2nd of September, 1770, will prove:--

"It were greatly to be wished that stage-coaches were put under

some regulation as to the number of persons and quantity of luggage

carried by them. Thirty-four persons were in and about the Hertford

coach this day, which broke down, by one of the traces giving way.

One outside passenger was killed on the spot, a woman had both legs

broken; very few of the number, either within or without, but were

severely bruised."

Rich or poor, high or low, prior to this were obliged either to walk

or ride in the same manner that Queen Elizabeth did from Greenwich

to London, behind her Lord Chancellor. Queen Victoria is a graceful

horsewoman. Previous to the lamented decease of the Prince Consort,

Her Majesty constantly appeared on horseback, and for all we know

to the contrary, Lord Cairns is able to "match the world with noble

horsemanship;" still we think that such an _entrée_ into London as

that performed by the Virgin Queen would surprise the weak minds of

the present generation.

One can scarcely now realize the state of things when a passenger

starting by the waggon from the metropolis at five o'clock in the

morning, did not arrive at Blackheath until half-past nine. For four

hours and a half were the unfortunate travellers tossed, tumbled,

jumbled, and rumbled over a road full of holes and wheel-ruts, out

of which extra horses were employed to drag the lumbering vehicle.

Break-downs (not the popular dance of that name) were frequent; much

time was occupied in repairing the waggons, and it often happened

that, when a wheelwright could not be got, the road was blocked up by

a broken-down vehicle.

Macaulay tells us that, during the year which immediately followed

the Restoration, a diligence ran between London and Oxford in two

days. The passengers slept at Beaconsfield. At length, in the

Spring of 1669, a great and daring innovation was attempted. It

was announced that a vehicle, described as the flying coach, would

perform the whole journey between sunrise and sunset.

"This spirited undertaking was solemnly considered and sanctioned by

the heads of the University, and appears to have excited the same

sort of interest which is excited in our own time by the opening of

a new railway. The Vice-Chancellor, by a notice which was affixed in

all public places, prescribed the hour and place of departure.

"The success of this experiment was complete. At six in the morning

the carriage began to move from before the ancient front of All

Souls' College, and at seven in the evening the adventurous gentlemen

who had run the first risk were safely deposited at their inn in

London. The emulation of the sister University was moved, and soon

a diligence was set up which in one day carried passengers from

Cambridge to the Capital."

In 1678 a contract was made to establish a coach for passengers

between Edinburgh and Glasgow, a distance of forty-four miles. This

coach was drawn by six horses, and the journey between the two

places, to and fro, was completed in six days.

At the close of the reign of Charles II. flying carriages ran thrice

a week from London to all the chief towns; but no stage-coach appears

to have proceeded further north than York, or further west than

Exeter. The ordinary day's journey of a flying coach was about fifty

miles in the Summer; but in Winter, when the ways were bad and the

nights long, little more than thirty miles.

The Chester coach, the York coach, and the Exeter coach generally

reached London in four days during the fine season, but at Christmas

not till the sixth day. The passengers, six in number, were all

seated in the carriage; for accidents were so frequent that it would

have been most perilous to mount the roof. The ordinary fare was

about twopence half-penny a mile in Summer, and somewhat more in

Winter.

"This mode of travelling, which by Englishmen of the present day

would be regarded as insufferably slow, seemed to our ancestors

wonderfully, and indeed alarmingly rapid; for, in a work published a

few months before the death of Charles II., the flying coaches are

extolled as far superior to any similar vehicles ever known in the

world. Their velocity is the subject of special commendation, and is

triumphantly contrasted with the sluggish pace of the Continental

posts. But with boasts like these was mingled the sound of complaint

and invective.

"The interest of large classes had been unfavourably affected

by the establishment of the new diligences, and, as usual, many

persons were, from mere stupidity and obstinacy, disposed to clamour

against the innovation. It was vehemently argued that this mode

of conveyance would be fatal to the breed of horses and to the

noble art of horsemanship; that the Thames, which had long been an

important nursery of seamen, would cease to be the chief thoroughfare

from London up to Windsor, and down to Gravesend; that saddlers

and spurriers would be ruined by hundreds; that numerous inns at

which mounted travellers had been in the habit of stopping would be

deserted, and could no longer pay any rent; that the new carriages

were too hot in Summer and too cold in Winter; that the passengers

were grievously annoyed by invalids and crying children; that the

coach sometimes reached the inn so late that it was impossible to

get supper, and sometimes started so early that it was impossible to

get breakfast.

"On these grounds it was gravely recommended that no public carriage

should be permitted to have more than four horses, to start oftener

than once a week, or to go more than thirty miles a day. It was hoped

that, if this regulation were adopted, all except the sick and the

lame would return to the old modes of travelling on horseback and by

water. Petitions embodying such opinions as these were presented to

the King in Council from several companies of the City of London,

from several provincial towns, and from the justices of several

counties."

It is difficult to determine the exact period at which a stage-coach

first appeared upon the road, for there is a wide difference between

the stage-coach of the last century and the flying coaches of the

previous one. Although the stage-coach may have improved in speed,

its discomfort still existed, as may be gleaned from the following

lines written by Dean Swift on his journey from London to Chester:--

"Resolved to visit a far-distant friend,

A porter to the Bull and Gate I send,

And bid the man at all events engage

Some place or other in the Chester stage.

The man returns--''Tis done as soon as said,

Your Honour's sure when once the money's paid.

My brother whip, impatient of delay,

Puts too at three and swears he cannot stay.'

(Four dismal hours ere the break of day.)

Roused from sound sleep--thrice called--at length I rise,

Yawning, stretch out my arms, half closed my eyes;

By steps and lanthorn enter the machine,

And take my place, how cordially, between

Two aged matrons of excessive bulk,

To mend the matter, too, of meaner folk;

While in like mood, jammed in on t'other side,

A bullying captain and a fair one ride,

Foolish as fair, and in whose lap a boy--

_Our_ plague eternal, but _her_ only joy.

At last, the glorious number to complete,

Steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat;

When soon, by every hillock, rut, and stone,

In each other's faces by turns we're thrown.

_This_ grandam scolds, _that_ coughs, the captain swears,

The fair one screams, and has a thousand fears;

While our plump landlord, trained in other lore,

Slumbers at ease, nor yet ashamed to snore;

And Master Dicky, in his mother's lap,

Squalling, at once brings up three meals of pap.

Sweet company! Next time, I do protest, Sir,

I'd walk to Dublin, ere I ride to Chester!"

As Dean Swift died in 1745, at the green old age of seventy-eight,

the above lines were probably written about the close of the

previous century; and certainly not much progress was made for

the comfort of passengers, as I can myself bear testimony. I well

remember the lumbering, slow coach that used to convey me from London

to Chichester thrice a year, when the holidays from Westminster

came about. It started at five o'clock in the morning, reaching its

destination late in the evening, six inside passengers being stuffed

in a small space capable of holding four comfortably. At all the

hills--and there are plenty on this road--we were politely asked to

descend from the vehicle, as the wretched horses could scarcely drag

their heavy load even on level ground. It was always considered in

those days dangerous to mount the roof; still any risk was better

than being stifled inside, and often have I, despite the inclemency

of the weather, taken the box seat, getting thoroughly wet through

before half my journey had been accomplished.

This reminds me of a witticism of a guard who, being told by a

passenger that he had tried every sort of waterproof coat, but that

nothing would keep him dry,

"Why, then," said the other, "don't you invest a penny in a Yarmouth

bloater? Eat that, and I warrant you'll be dry all day?"

None except those who have been victims to the misery of inside

berths can imagine the wretchedness of them--a coach licensed to

carry six inside--for so small was the space, so low was the roof,

that the legs of the inmates were cramped, and their backs doubled

up. Then the atmosphere was most oppressive--forty, sometimes fifty,

stone of human beings huddled together, with both windows up. Again,

the occupants--occasionally a fat nurse and a squalling baby; a

farmer, rude in health and manners; a painted old Jezebel, redolent

of Macassar oil and patchouli; a fledgling dandy, strong of musk; a

bloated publican, on the verge of delirium tremens, who, as the old

song says, "kept his spirits up by pouring spirits down;" a snuffy

old maid, whose nasal organ was so supplied with "lundyfoot" that it

set her companions sneezing immoderately. Then the inside passengers

were to be fed, and a strong odour of cheese, apples, oranges, cakes,

brandy, rum, gin, beer prevailed everywhere.

Often in my early days have I travelled from London to

Brighthelmstone (now called Brighton) in a coach thus described:--

"Lewes and Brighthelmstone--new machine to hold four persons,

by Charley, sets out by the 'George Inn,' in the Haymarket, St.

James's at six o'clock in the morning, every Monday, Wednesday, and

Friday, in one day to the 'Star' at Lewes, and the 'Old Ship' at

Brighthelmstone, and returns from there every Tuesday, Thursday, and

Saturday. Inside passengers to Lewes to pay thirteen shillings; to

Brighthelmstone, sixteen shillings. To be allowed fourteen pounds

weight of baggage, all above to pay one penny per pound."

The above was a great improvement upon a coach previously drawn by

six long-tailed black horses, thus described:--

"Batchelor's Old Godstone, East Grinstead, and Lewes stage continues

to set out every Tuesday at nine o'clock and Saturday at five o'clock

from the 'Talbot Inn', in the Borough, returning every Monday and

Thursday. Children in lap and outside passengers to pay half price.

Half of the fare to be paid at booking. Performed, if God permit, by

J. Batchelor."

I may here remind my readers that when the Prince Regent, afterwards

George IV., selected Brighton, as a marine residence, and squandered

thousands and thousands of pounds upon the Pavilion, the journey from

London to this then small fishing town occupied two days; the first

night being passed at Reigate or at Cuckfield, according to the road

the stage travelled.

About seventy-five years ago an attempt was made to run through in

one day, and, to the surprise of many, was accomplished; but it was

not until 1823 that the Brighton road became (what it continued

to be until the rail was introduced) the first in England for

well-appointed coaches, first-rate teams, and gentleman-like drivers.

Harry Stevenson, who was educated at Cambridge, was the first to

introduce the fast light coach, called the "Waterwitch," and truly

did he "_witch_ the world with noble _coach_manship." After a time

this beau-ideal of dragsmen started another coach in lieu of the

"Waterwitch," which he called the "Age," and which was unrivalled.

Who that ever saw that fancy team, the skewbald, dun, chestnut, and

roan, sightly and full of action, leave the Castle Square, witnessed

that which never has been and never can be equalled, in this or in

any other country. With Stevenson commenced the rage for driving

public conveyances by noblemen and gentlemen, to which I shall refer

in a future chapter.

It may here not be out of place to lay before my readers a statement

of the working of the stage-coaches in bygone days. In 1742 a

stage-coach left London for Oxford at seven o'clock in the morning,

and reached Uxbridge at midday. It arrived at High Wycombe at five in

the evening, where it rested for the night, and proceeded at the same

rate for the seat of learning on the morrow. Here, then, were ten

hours consumed each day in travelling twenty-seven miles, and nearly

two days in performing what was afterwards done under six hours by

the "Defiance" and other coaches. To go from London to York used to

take six days.

In 1784 I read of the Edinburgh diligence, horsed with a pair, which

set off daily from the "Saracen's Head," in the Gallowgate, Glasgow,

at seven o'clock in the morning, and arrived at Edinburgh at eight

o'clock at night. This conveyance stopped at Cumbernauld for an hour

and a half in order to give the passengers time for breakfast, and

again for the same time at Linlithgow for dinner. A third stoppage

took place in order that the passengers might enjoy their tea, when

they again proceeded on their road, and were finally set down safely

in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh at eight o'clock at night.

About this period there was a ponderous machine with six broad

wheels, and drawn by eight horses, called the Newcastle waggon. In

addition to passengers, it generally carried a great portion of

the Glasgow linen and cotton manufactures to the London market. It

travelled at the rate of twenty-five miles a day, and was three weeks

upon the road between Glasgow and London, resting always upon the

Sundays. At that time the best mode of conveyance from Glasgow to the

English capital was by a trading vessel from Borrowstounness; and so

remarkable was a sight of London considered in Glasgow, that a worthy

citizen who bore the same Christian and surname as another friend

was, after his return from London, distinguished as "London John."

The use of stage-coaches rapidly extended itself, and there was

scarcely a town through which some stage-coach did not pass. After

a time, the heavy six-inside lumbering vehicle gave way to the

light four-inside fast coach; and from the year 1825 until the

introduction of railways, nothing could exceed the "turns out"

on the principal roads. In 1833 the distance between London and

Shrewsbury (one hundred and fifty-four miles), Exeter (one hundred

and seventy-one miles), and Manchester (one hundred and eighty-seven

miles) was done in a day. The Mail to Holyhead performed the journey

(two hundred and sixty-one miles) in twenty-seven hours, and that

to Liverpool (two hundred and three miles) in twenty-one hours. The

journey to Brighton was accomplished at the rate of twelve miles

an hour, including stoppages, and the Bath, Bristol, Southampton,

Oxford, and Cambridge coaches were famed for their excellent

arrangements.

In 1807 one of the Stamford stage-coaches that daily ran to London

performed the journey (ninety-nine miles) in nine hours and four

minutes from the time of starting; although the passengers were

allowed time to breakfast and dine upon the road. The coach must

necessarily have run at the rate of twelve miles an hour.

The fast coach had nearly a horse to every mile of ground it ran,

reckoning one way, or "one side of the ground"--for example, from

London to Shrewsbury the distance is one hundred and fifty-eight

miles, and the number of horses kept for the "Wonder" coach was one

hundred and fifty.

The average price of horses for these coaches was about £23. Fancy

teams, and those working out of London, were rated considerably

higher; but, taking a hundred miles of ground, well horsed, the above

was about the mark. In these days it would be nearly if not quite

double. The average period of each horse's service did not exceed

four years.

CHAPTER II.

DANGERS OF TRAVELLING--ANECDOTES OF HIGHWAYMEN--INNKEEPERS AND

HIGHWAYMEN--STAGE-COACH ROBBERIES--A 'CUTE LADY--A JOURNEY

TO LONDON UNDER DIFFICULTIES--TRAVELLING IN 1770--VANBRUGH'S

DESCRIPTION OF AN M.P.'S JOURNEY--SYDNEY SMITH ON MODERN

IMPROVEMENT.

CHAPTER II.

In the days I write of, Macaulay tells us that the mounted

highwayman, a marauder known to the present generation only from

books, was to be found on every main road. Hounslow Heath on the

Great Western Road, Finchley Common on the Great Northern Road,

were, perhaps, the most celebrated of these spots; but there was

hardly an open common or steep hill which was not infested with these

enterprising plunderers.

Upon two occasions I fell in with these gentlemen of the road.

Once, when travelling in very early youth from London to Goodwood,

the Chichester coach was stopped by two ill-favoured scoundrels,

who were about to levy black mail on the inside passengers, when,

fortunately, the sound of a travelling-carriage was heard, and

thinking, probably, that the inmates of it might be armed, the

robbers scampered off.

The second adventure occurred to me when returning very late at

night from Tunbridge Wells in a dennet with my trusty batman, John

Hargreaves, by my side. We were ascending the hill that leads into

Sevenoaks, my servant walking up it and I driving, when I heard a

shrill whistle from one side of the road, which was immediately

responded to. Anticipating some mischief, I said "Jump in," and,

obedient to orders, Hargreaves did so.

Happily, we had reached the summit of the hill, when one man rushed

forward and attempted to seize the horse's bridle, while another

tried to hang on behind the gig. Hargreaves had my stick in his hand,

a good ash plant, with which he struck the fellow a blow across the

face, which made him relax his hold, while I gave a smart lash of

the whip to my most willing horse, who started off at a tremendous

pace down the hill, leaving my assailant sprawling on the ground, and

within an inch of having his head run over by the wheel.

"Stage-coach robberies were of daily occurrence, and it was generally

supposed that they were connived at by many innkeepers; so much so,

indeed, that proclamations were issued warning all innkeepers that

the eye of the Government was upon them. Their criminal connivance,

it was affirmed, enabled banditti to infest the roads with impunity.

That those suspicions were not without foundation is proved by the

dying speeches of some penitent robbers of that age, who appear to

have received from the innkeepers services much resembling those

which Farquhar's 'Boniface' rendered to 'Gibbet.'"

In the "Domestic Intelligence" I read that "several passengers, both

men and women, to the number of fifteen, going in three or four

coaches towards Bath and Bristol, were set upon by some highwaymen

(supposed to be soldiers) well armed, about Stoke Church, in

Oxfordshire (a very desolate part at that time), who robbed them all

of very considerable value."

Another adventure may not prove uninteresting. Two travellers were

journeying together over a dreary common, when one remarked to the

other that he trusted they should not fall in with any highwaymen, as

he had one hundred pounds secreted in his boot. They had not gone

many miles before they came to a most secluded spot, where four cross

roads met; the new-laid earth round the finger-post, and a gibbet at

some little distance, with a skeleton body suspended in chains to it,

showed that two human beings had met with ignominious deaths. They

had been companions in crime, and in robbing the Mail the guard had

been killed.

An offer of a free pardon and two hundred pounds reward had been

proclaimed, when one of the wretches, actuated by vile lucre, turned

King's evidence, and sacrificed his friend. Although he had taken

part in the robbery, as he did not fire the fatal shot, his pardon

was granted and the blood money awarded him. On the morning of

the execution of his partner in guilt, remorse seized hold of the

informer, and by his own hand he rid the country of a villain.

The two travellers, who, I ought to say, had met accidentally at an

inn, reached the spot I have described; the wind whistled across the

heath--the chains of the gibbet clanked, the birds of carrion hovered

over the new-made grave, in which the suicide had been buried, and

the body of the murderer dangled in the air.

As they passed the grave of the suicide, three men suddenly rushed

forward, determined, as they swore, with a dreadful imprecation, to

have the money or the lives of the travellers.

"Spare our lives! Take all I have!" cried one. "Here it is!" offering

a handful of silver.

"That won't do!" responded the highwayman. "I'll soon see what you

have about you!"

"Stay!" said the other. "My companion has our money hid away in his

boot."

"Traitor!" exclaimed his companion, while one of the gang, with

blackened face and cocked pistol, proceeded to take off the boots of

the terrified victim.

"If you've spoken false," shouted the first, "I'll give you an ounce

of lead for your pains."

"He has spoken truth," responded the searcher. "Here's a prize--a

hundred pounds in Bank of England notes!"

Securing the money, the two travellers were blindfolded and bound

to the finger-post, while the horse was taken out of their gig and

turned loose on the common. It was nearly an hour before they were

released from their position, during which period the ill-used victim

vented his anger pretty loudly.

Upon reaching the next town where a deposition was made before a

magistrate, the worthy Justice commented in rather a severe strain

upon the base conduct of the miscreant who had acted so treacherous a

part.

"Hear my palliation," meekly said the accused.

"Stand down; I've heard enough;" vociferated the man in authority.

"One word," continued the other. "My object was not to screen myself

at another's expense. My companion told me he had one hundred pounds

in his boot; I had twelve hundred pounds in my waistband. Had I been

searched, that must have been discovered, and would probably have led

to my companion being searched; so I thought it better to sacrifice

the smaller to the larger sum. I now return the money I was the means

of his being deprived of, and in future recommend him to be more

prudent in keeping his own counsel."

One more anecdote of the road must suffice:--

Early in the present century a rider for a mercantile house in the

City of London was attacked a few miles beyond Winchester, by a

highwayman, who, taking him by surprise, robbed him of his purse and

pocket-book, containing cash and notes to a considerable amount.

"Sir," said the rider, with great presence of mind, "I have suffered

you to take my property, and you are welcome to it. It is my

master's, and the loss of it cannot do him much harm; but, as it

will look very cowardly in me to have been robbed without making any

resistance, I should take it kindly of you just to fire a pistol

through my coat."

"With all my heart," replied the highwayman; "where will you have the

ball?"

"Here," said the rider, "just by the side of the button."

The highwayman was as good as his word, but the moment he fired the

rider knocked him off his horse; and, having stunned him with the

blow, aided by a labourer who came up at the time, lodged him safely

in Winchester Gaol.

As late as the year 1814 stage-coach robberies continued, for

I find in 1814 the Stroud Mail was robbed of bank-notes to the

amount of two thousand eight hundred pounds; and in the following

year the Buckingham stage-coach was robbed of bills and notes to a

considerable amount.

Occasionally the victims of a robbery advertised for the loss of

any valued article, as will be seen by the following whimsical and

good-humoured appeal extracted from Salisbury's "Flying Post" of Oct.

27, 1696:--

"Whereas six gentlemen (all of the same honourable profession),

having been more than ordinary put to it for a little pocket money,

did, on the 14th instant, in the evening, near Kentish Town, borrow

of two persons (in a coach) a certain sum of money, without staying

to give bond for the repayment, and whereas fancy was taken to the

hat, peruke, cravat, sword, and cane of one of the creditors, which

were all lent as freely as the money; these are, therefore, to desire

the said worthies, how fond soever they may be of the other loans,

to unfancy the cane again, and send it to Will's Coffee-House in

Scotland-yard, it being too short for any such proper gentlemen as

they are to walk with, and too small for any of their important uses,

and withal only valuable as having been the gift of a friend."

As late as the year 1750 carriages were stopped at noonday in Hyde

Park, and even in Piccadilly, and pistols presented at the breasts

of the most fashionable people. A celebrated highwayman, by name

M'Lean, was that year taken and executed. So eager were persons of

all classes to see him that three thousand persons visited him one

day after his condemnation. The usual reward offered by Government

for the apprehension of every highwayman was a hundred pounds. It was

not safe to venture out after dark. Travellers were armed in broad

daylight, as though they were going to battle.

In Lady Walpole's Letters I find the following description of a very

'cute lady:--

"Lady Browne and I were, as usual, going to the Duchess of Montrose's

at seven o'clock. The evening was dark. In the close lane, under the

park pale, and within twenty yards of the gate, a black figure pushed

by between the chaise and the hedge on my side. I suspected it was a

highwayman, and so, I found, did Browne, for she was speaking, and

stopped. To divert her fears I was going to say, 'Is not that the

apothecary going to the Duchess?' when I heard a voice cry 'Stop!'

and then the figure came back to the chaise. I had the presence of

mind before I let down the glass, to take out my watch and stuff it

within my dress under the arm. He said,

"'Your purses and watches?'

"'I have no watch,' I replied.

"'Then, your purse.'

"I gave it to him; it had nine guineas in it. It was so dark that I

could not see his hand, but I felt him take it. He then asked for

Lady Browne's purse, and said,

"'Don't be frightened, I will not hurt you.'

"'No, you won't frighten the lady,' I said.

"'No, I give you my word I will not hurt you,' he replied.

"Lady Browne gave him her purse, and was going to add her watch; but

he said,

"'I am much obliged to you; I wish you good night,' pulled off his

hat, and rode away.

"'Well,' said I, 'you will not be afraid of being robbed another

time, for, you see, there is nothing in it.'

"'Oh! but I am,' she said; 'and now I am in terror lest he return,

for I have given him a purse with bad money in it, that I carry on

purpose.'"

Again we read that not only was it dangerous to travel in bygone days

from a fear of being robbed and murdered, but the roads were so bad

that scarcely a day passed but a coach stuck fast in the mud, and

remained there until a team of cattle could be procured from some

neighbouring farm to tug it out of the slough. On the best lines of

communication the ruts were deep, the descents precipitous, and the

road often such that it was hardly possible to distinguish it in the

dusk from the uninclosed heath and fen which lay on both sides.

"Ralph Thoresby, the antiquary, was in danger of losing his way on

the Great North Road, between Barnby Moor and Tuxford, and actually

lost it between Doncaster and York. Pepys and his wife, travelling

in their own coach, lost their way between Newbury and Reading. In

the course of the same tour they lost their way near Salisbury, and

were in danger of having to pass the night on the Plain. It was only

in fine weather that the whole breadth of the road was available for

wheeled carriages. Often the mud lay deep on the right and the left,

and only a narrow track of firm ground rose above the quagmire. At

such times obstructions and quarrels were frequent, and the path was

sometimes blocked up during a long time by carriers, neither of whom

would break the way.

"Thoresby has recorded in his diary many perils and disasters that

befell him. On one occasion he learned that the floods were out

between Ware and London, that passengers had to swim for their

lives, and that a higgler had perished in the attempt to cross. In

consequence of these tidings he turned out of the high road, and was

conducted across some meadows, where it was necessary for him to ride

to the saddle skirts in water. In the course of another journey he

narrowly escaped being swept away by an inundation of the Trent.

"Of course, during the period the waters were out coaches ceased

to run. Thoresby was afterwards detained at Stamford four days on

account of the state of the roads, and then ventured to proceed only

because fourteen Members of the House of Commons, who were going up

in a body to Parliament with guides and numerous attendants, took him

into their company."

The great route through Wales to Holyhead was in such a state that,

in 1685, Henry Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, Viceroy, on his way to

Ireland, was five hours in travelling fourteen miles from St. Asaph

to Conway. Between Conway and Beaumaris he was forced to walk great

part of the way, and the Countess was carried in a litter. His coach

was, with great difficulty, and by the help of many hands, brought

after him entire. In general, carriages were taken to pieces at

Conway, and borne on the shoulders of stout Welsh peasants to the

Menai Strait.

At that period, and long after, the passage in the ferry-boat at the

Menai Strait was slow and tedious, and the packet-boat from Holyhead

to Kingstown seldom crossed over under eight or ten hours. Now a man

may, as I did last Autumn, breakfast in London, and sit down to a

half-past seven dinner in Dublin.

In Sussex the roads were so bad that when Prince George of Denmark

visited the stately mansion of Petworth in wet weather he was six

hours in going nine miles, and it was necessary that a body of sturdy

hands should be on each side of his coach in order to prop it. Of the

carriages which conveyed his retinue, several were upset and injured.

A letter from one of his suite has been preserved, in which the

unfortunate gentleman-in-waiting complains that during fourteen hours

he never once alighted, except when his coach was overturned or stuck

fast in the mud.

Great contrast is offered in this narrative to the present state of

travelling; "only, to be sure," as Macaulay writes, "people did get

up again with their heads on after a roll in the Sussex mud, which,

unhappily, is not always the case after a railway collision."

Arthur Young, who travelled in Lancashire in 1770, has left us the

following account of the state of the roads at that time.

"I know not," he says, "in the whole range of language, terms

sufficiently expressive to describe this awful road. Let me most

seriously caution all travellers who may accidentally propose to

travel this terrible country to avoid it as they would a pestilence,

for a thousand to one they break their necks or their limbs by

overthrows or breakings down. They will here meet with ruts which I

actually measured four feet deep, and floating with mud, only from

a wet Summer. What, therefore, must it be after a Winter? The only

mending it receives is tumbling in some loose stones, which serve no

other purpose than jolting a carriage in the most intolerable manner.

Let me persuade all travellers to avoid this terrible country, which

must either dislocate their bones with broken pavement or bury them

in muddy sand."

In a well-known passage, Arthur Young vents his spleen at the expense

of the municipal authorities of Lancashire, and reproachfully reminds

them that, thanks to their abominable highways, London often suffers

from want of animal food, while country farmers are unable to get

more than five farthings a pound for good beef!

A coach and six is in our time never seen, except as part of some

pageant; the frequent mention, therefore, of such equipages in old

books is likely to mislead. We hear of private carriages and public

stage-coaches of six, and attribute to magnificence what was really

the effect of a very disagreeable necessity. A pair of horses now

would do ten times the work six did in the days I write of, and I

cannot illustrate this better than by giving Vanbrugh's most humorous

description of the way in which a country gentleman, newly chosen a

Member of Parliament, came up to London. On that occasion all the

exertions of six beasts, two of which had been taken from the plough,

could not save the family coach from being embedded in a quagmire.

The scene takes place at Uncle Richard's house in London, previous to

the arrival of his nephew, Sir Francis Headpiece, a country gentleman

and Parliament man, who was strongly addicted to malt-liquor and

field sports. Although only forty-two years of age, it appears that

Sir Francis had drunk two-and-thirty tuns of ale, while in the

pursuit of the chase he had broken his right arm, his left leg, and

both his collar-bones.

Uncle Richard had just read his wiseacre nephew's letter, when James,

the footman, enters hastily.

"Sir, Sir," he exclaims, "they're all a-coming; here's John Moody

arrived already. He's stamping about the streets in his dirty

boots, asking every man he meets if they can tell where he may

have a good lodging for a Parliament man, till he can hire such a

house as becomes him. He tells them his lady and all the family are

coming too, and that they are so nobly attended they care not a

fig for anybody. Sir, they have added two cart-horses to the four

old bays, because my Lady will have it said she came to town in

her coach-and-six; and, ha, ha! heavy George, the ploughman, rides

postilion."

"Very well, James," responds his master, "the journey begins as it

should do. Dost know whether they bring all the children with them?"

"Only Squire Humphrey and Miss Betty, Sir; the other six are put

to board, at half-a-crown a week a head, with Joan Grouse, at

Smokedunghill Farm."

"Dost know when they'll be here?"

"Sir, they'd have been here last night, but that the old wheezy horse

tired, and the two fore wheels came crash down at once in Waggonrut

Lane. Sir, they were cruelly loaden, as I understand. My Lady

herself, he says, laid on four mail-trunks, besides the great deal

box which fat Tom and the monkey sat upon behind."

"So."

"Then within the coach there was Sir Francis, my Lady, the great fat

lap-dog, Squire Humphrey, Miss Betty, my Lady's maid, Mrs. Handy, and

Dolly the cook; but she was so ill with sitting backward that they

mounted her into the coachbox."

"Very well."

"Then, Sir, for fear of a famine before they could get to the

baiting-place, there were such baskets of plum-cake, Dutch

gingerbread, Cheshire cheese, Naples biscuits, macaroons, neats'

tongues, and cold boiled beef--and in case of sickness, such bottles

of usquebagh, black cherry brandy, cinnamon-water, sack, tent, and

strong beer, as made the old coach crack again; and for defence

of this good cheer and my Lady's little pearl necklace, there was

the family basket-hilt sword, the great Turkish scimitar, the old

blunderbuss, a good bag of bullets, and a great horn of gunpowder."

"Admirable."

"Then for band-boxes, they were so bepiled up to Sir Francis's nose

that he could only peep out at a chance hole with one eye, as if he

were viewing the country through a perspective-glass."

Sir John Vanbrugh, who wrote the above admirable account of a

journey to London, was the grandson of a Protestant refugee from the

Netherlands, and the son of a wealthy sugar-baker. Little is known

of the history of his youth, or of that training which enabled him

not only to become one of the most celebrated English architects,

but also, in conjunction with Congreve, to produce some excellent

comedies. As an architect, he designed Castle Howard and Blenheim; as

a dramatist, his most successful plays were "The Relapse" and "The

Provoked Wife," and the uncompleted "Journey to London," which was

worked up by Colley Cibber into "The Provoked Husband."

"The good of ancient times let others state;

I think it lucky I was born so late."

So wrote Sydney Smith, and it is a sentiment that all must concur in.

The witty divine goes on to state:--

"A young man alive at this period hardly knows to what improvement

of human life he has been introduced, and I would bring before his

notice the following changes which have taken place in England

since I first began to breathe in it the breath of life--a period

amounting now to nearly seventy-three years. Gas was unknown. I

groped about the streets of London in all but the utter darkness of a

twinkling oil lamp, under the protection of watchmen in their grand

climacteric, and exposed to every species of depredation and insult.

I have been nine hours sailing from Dover to Calais before the

invention of steam. It took me nine hours to go from Taunton to Bath

before the invention of railroads, and I now go in six hours from

London to Bath."

The witty Reverend then proceeds to refer to wooden pavements

instead of stone ones, the new police instead of the superannuated

"Charleys," the well-appointed cab (what would he have said to the

hansom)? in lieu of the lumbering hackney coach, waterproof instead

of primitive pulp hats; he then calls the attention of the reader

to the introduction of gentlemen's braces, colchicum, calomel, and

clubs. He might have added, the greatest boons of all, the telegraph,

which "wafts a sigh from Indus to the Pole," or, unpoetically

speaking, announces in an incredibly short space of time the

arrival of a friend in India or America, nor would he have omitted

chloroform, which saves hours of agony and torture, and which is an

especial blessing to the humbler classes, who, when undergoing some

painful operation, have not the comforts of the wealthier class about

them.

CHAPTER III.

SLOW COACHES--FAST COACHES--"THE WONDER" AND "BLENHEIM"--PUBLIC

DINNERS TO THE DRIVERS--PRESENTATION OF A SILVER CUP TO A

DRIVER OF "THE BLENHEIM"--THE YOUNG OXONIANS FAIRLY TAKEN

IN--NIMROD ON THE SHREWSBURY AND CHESTER "HIGHFLYER"--BANEFUL

EFFECTS OF RAILWAYS ON THE ROAD--"THE DESERTED

VILLAGE"--WONDERFUL FEAT OF LOCOMOTION.

CHAPTER III.

The term "slow coach" became proverbial, and was applied not only to

the lumbering six-inside vehicles that travelled at almost a snail's

pace, but to every schoolboy and collegian who possessed little or no

gumption. Unfortunately, in those days the Society for the Prevention

of Cruelty to Animals did not exist, or many a hulking fellow would

have been had up for his merciless use of the lash when urging his

wretched cattle up a severe hill or over ruts recently laid down with

large unbroken stones--smooth "macadamised" roads being not then in

prospective existence. So heavy was the draught that an appeal was

being constantly made to the passengers to alight and walk up any

acclivity, which upon a wet day or when the mud was ankle-deep, was

not a very pleasant thing.

Such was the system of travelling in the good old times, as they

were called, when every affair of life moved on at a quiet, jog-trot

pace. But when competition of the most eager kind became the

order of the day, it cannot be said that mails or coaches stood

still. The Edinburgh Mail ran four hundred miles in forty hours,

stoppages included. The Exeter day coach, the "Herald," went over

its ground, one hundred and seventy-three miles, in twenty hours,

an admirable performance, considering the natural unevenness of the

country; and the Devonport Mail performed the journey, two hundred

and twenty-seven miles, in twenty-two hours. The increase of speed

was alarming to those who had been accustomed to the old-fashioned

slow coaches, and the rate at which the new vehicles travelled was

considered reckless risking of human life.

It may not be here out of place to observe that the first requisite

in a coach horse is action, and the second sound legs and feet,

with blood and bone. The third desideratum is good wind, as the

power of respiration is called, without which the first and

second qualifications avail but little for any length of time.

A clear-winded coach horse will always keep his condition, and

consequently his health, because he does not feel distress on a

reasonable length of ground. The hunter or racer is good or bad,

chiefly in proportion to his powers of respiration, and such equally

applies to the coach horse. The food most proper, then, for a coach

horse in fast work is that which affords ample support, without

having a pernicious influence on his wind; or to use a more elegant,

though not more forcible, expression, that which does not impair his

respiratory organs by pressing on them.

To return to the fast coaches, so splendidly were they horsed, and so

admirably well did they keep their time, that they fully merited the

following eulogium.

At a dinner given at Shrewsbury some five and thirty years ago by

coachmen and guards to the Honourable Mr. Kenyon, that gentleman, in

proposing the health of Mr. R. Taylor, coach proprietor, made some

interesting statements on the subject of stage-coach travelling.

Among other remarks, he said:--

"As a coach proprietor, Mr. Taylor was one of the most spirited in

England. He had, at one time, two of the very best coaches that ever

ran--the "Hirondelle" and "Wonder." No coach established for itself a

higher reputation than the former. On May 1st, (the precise year he

could not recollect) it accomplished its journey of one hundred and

twenty miles in eight hours and twenty minutes--a speed few coaches

could ever boast of.

"He (Mr. Kenyon) was in Shrewsbury that day, and saw a team of four

greys, belonging to Mr. Taylor, enter the town, which had done their

nine miles in thirty-five minutes. He recollected that there were

two ladies inside the coach, who were informed that, as that day

was appointed for a trial of strength, they might, if they were

frightened at the speed, choose any other conveyance they pleased,

and should be forwarded on their journey immediately; but their

answer showed good blood; they said they were not aware that they had

come at the great speed they had, and that they preferred going fast.

"With regard to the 'Wonder,' he himself left the 'Lion Yard,'

Shrewsbury, one morning at six o'clock, and was at Islington the

same evening at seven o'clock, being only thirteen hours on the

road. On that occasion he was driven by four of the best coachmen he

ever saw.

"Another instance of the reputation the 'Wonder' had acquired was

given him by his friend Sir Henry Peyton, who had informed him that

he had frequently seen persons at St. Albans regulating their watches

by the 'Wonder' coach as it came into that town. This was the only

instance he had ever heard of a coach regulating the time. It was

clear that the coach could not have gained such a name for regularity

without good cattle and good coachmen, and it was to the proprietors

they were indebted."

Charles Holmes, the driver of the "Blenheim" coach was in the year

1835 presented with a silver cup bearing the following inscription,

"Presented to Charles Holmes by Sir Henry Peyton on behalf of

himself and two hundred and fifty subscribers, in testimony

of their admiration of his good conduct as driver of the

'Blenheim' coach for a period of upwards of twenty years."

The subscription was limited to ten shillings, the actual half

sovereign subscribed by the late Duke of Wellington was let into

the bottom of the vase. The cup was presented to this first-rate

"dragsman" after a dinner at the "Thatched House," presided over by

Sir Henry Peyton.

Among the numerous anecdotes the road have furnished, perhaps one of

the most amusing ones is the story of the Oxford "Defiance."

Term was over; the coach was full of young Oxonians returning to

their respective colleges; the morning was cold, wet, and miserable,

when the well-appointed "drag" drove up to the "White Horse Cellar,"

Piccadilly.

"Have you room for one inside?" asked as pretty a girl as you would

wish to see on a Summer's day.

"What a beauty!" exclaimed one.

"Quite lovely!" said another.

"Perfect!" lisped a third.

"Quite full, Miss, inside and out," replied the coachman.

"Surely you could make room for one," persevered the fair applicant.

"Quite impossible, without the young gentlemen's consent."

"Lots of room," cried the insides; "we are not very large; we can

manage to take one more."

"If the gentlemen consent," replied the driver, "I can have no

objection."

"We agree," said the inside quartette.

"All right," responded the coachman.

The fare was paid, and the guard proceeded to open the door, and let

down the steps.

"Now, Miss, if you please; we are behind our time."

"Come along, grandfather," cried the damsel, addressing a most

respectable-looking, portly, elderly man; "the money is paid; get in,

and be sure you thank the young gentlemen," at the same time suiting

the action to the word, and, with a smile, assisting her respected

grandfather into the coach.

"Here's some mistake. You'll squeeze us to death," cried the

astonished party.

"Sorry to incommode you," replied the intruder; "I hope you won't

object to have both windows up, I'm sadly troubled with a cough."

At this moment, "All right, sit fast!" was heard; and the "Defiance"

rattled away, best pace, drowning the voices of the astonished

Oxonians.

"Nimrod" tells a good story of the Shrewsbury and Chester

"Highflyer," which started at eight o'clock in the morning and

arrived at Chester about the same time in the evening--distance

forty miles. This was always a good hard road for wheels, and rather

favourable for draught; and how, then, could all these hours be

accounted for?

"Why, if a commercial gentleman had a little business at Ellesmere

there was plenty of time for that. If a real gentleman wanted to pay

a morning visit on the road, there could be no objection to that. In

the pork-pie season half an hour was generally occupied in consuming

one of them, for Mr. Williams, the coachman, was a wonderful

favourite with the farmers' wives and daughters all along the road.

"The coach dined at Wrexham, and Wrexham Church was to be seen--a

fine specimen of the florid Gothic, and one of the wonders of Wales.

Then Wrexham was also famous for ale, there being no public breweries

in those days in Wales; and, above all, the inn belonged to Sir

Watkin. About two hours were allowed for dinner, but Billy Williams,

one of the best-tempered fellows on earth, as honest as Aristides,

was never particular to half an hour or so.

"'The coach is ready, gentlemen,' he would say; 'but don't let me

disturb you if you wish for another bottle.'"

What a contrast does this furnish to the hasty meals at the railway

stations, where the bell for departure is heard long before the

hungry passenger has swallowed half his scalding soup, or devoured

his plate of cold meat!

The removal of posting and coaching from the road has had a baneful

effect upon every branch of trade and industry. One example from each

line of railway will show the consequences of the change that has

taken place.

In the town of Hounslow, which was the first stage on the Great

Western Road, there used to be kept, for the purposes of coaching and

posting, two thousand five hundred horses. Any person acquainted

with the nature of the business is aware that it would not be by any

means an exaggeration to say that every one of these horses, for

keep, duty, shoeing, ostlers, harness, &c., occasioned an outlay of

two pounds per week, so that there was a sum of five thousand pounds

circulated every week in this one town, besides the money that was

spent by travellers at the different inns; and a very considerable

portion of that amount was paid for labour and distributed among the

different tradesmen, every one of whom was benefited directly or

indirectly.

The state of things on the first stage of the Western Road will serve

as an example for the whole of the remaining distance, as, of course,

an equal number of horses was required all the way down the road, and

the effect, therefore, was equally destructive upon all towns which

were formerly thriving and prosperous--witness Reading, Newbury,

Hungerford, Marlborough.

On the Northern Road an equally disastrous effect has been produced.

At Barnet, where formerly Messrs. Bryant and Newman, the rival

postmasters, could produce three hundred to four hundred pairs of

horses, and where, also an immense number of coach-horses were kept,

the grass has grown over the inn yard. The same observation applies

with equal force to all towns east and south of the metropolis.

The above gave rise to the following parody on Goldsmith's "Deserted

Village":--

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

"Quantum mutatus ab illo."

Hail, Hounslow! primest town upon the road,

Where coaching once in all its glory showed,

Where careful drivers might be always found,

Ready when ostlers called to "bring 'em round."

The Member rattling up at slapping pace,

To ease his conscience, or secure a place--

The maiden flying from a guardian's rage,

In Hymen's "Union" venturing a stage--

These knew no more of anxious fear or doubt,

When John the ostler cried, "the first turn out."

Once, Hounslow, there was many a gallant team,

The dragsman's pride, the helper's fruitful theme;

How dashingly they sweep up to the well-known door,

Where rest awaited when their task was o'er;

Or, sleek of coat, and deck'd with trappings gay,

Bounding they met the labour of the day.

Landlord and whip gazed on the thriving trade,

And dreamt of fortunes soon and surely made,

For then alike both house and coach fill'd well,

"And all went merry as a marriage bell."

Once it was thus--another age appears,

And Hounslow's smiles, alas! are turn'd to tears.

No more is heard the mellow winding horn,

Waking the drowsy slumbers of the morn;

No spicy "change" now waits for the down mail,

For, woe is me! the "Bristol's" on the "rail."

No longer now is heard the busy din

In the full yard that marks the prosperous inn;

Unheard is now the watching ostler's call;

The only "pair" is weary of the stall.

Silent the joke of "boots," ne'er known to fail;

The keeper's whistle and the postboy's tale.

No waiter now bestirs him for the nonce,

To answer fifty summonses at once;

E'en Bessy's self, so long the bar's fair boast,

The cookmaid's envy, and the bagman's toast,

Whose winning smile was so well known to fame

That for a ray each traveller duly came,--

E'en she--so hopeless, Hounslow, is thy case--

Hath packed her traps and bolted from her place.

A time there was, ere railroads came in force,

When every mile of ground maintained its horse;

Coach after coach then rattled briskly by,

"Live and let live" was then the wholesome cry.

'Tis past! and now succeeds the general doom

Of landlord, barmaid, waiters, ostler, groom;

The coachman's glories have for ever set,

And "boots" has got a place--in the _Gazette_.

A popular writer who flourished some five and forty years ago

quotes a letter from a personal friend, who boasts of the following

wonderful feat of locomotion:--

"I was out hunting last season, on a Monday, near Brighton, and

dined with my father in Merrion Square, Dublin, at six o'clock on the

following Wednesday, distance four hundred miles."

It was done thus:--He went from Brighton in an afternoon coach that

set him down in London in time for the Holyhead Mail, and this mail,

with the help of the steamer to cross the Channel, delivered him in

Dublin at the time mentioned.

What would the writer say now, when, by leaving London at 7.15 a.m.,

he may dine at the table-d'hôte at the Shelbourne Hotel, Dublin, at

7.30 p.m., with ample time to have a hot bath and change his dress

before dinner is served?

The writer then proceeds to say:--

"In this wonder-working age few greater improvements have been made

in any of the useful arts than in those applied to the system of

travelling by land. Projectors and projects have multiplied with

our years, and the fairy-petted princes of the "Arabian Nights'

Entertainments" were scarcely transported from place to place with

more facility or dispatch than Englishmen are in A.D. 1832. From

Liverpool to Manchester, thirty-six miles, in an hour and a half!

Surely Dædalus is come amongst us again."

What would the writer of the above have thought if he had lived

to travel by what is termed the "Flying Dutchman," which now runs

from London to Plymouth in six hours and a quarter, and which, we

understand, will shortly accomplish seventy miles an hour.

To resume--or, as the gentlemanly gang under Captain Macheath say,

"Let us take the road" as it was at the period above mentioned.

The Edinburgh Mail ran the distance (four hundred miles) in forty

hours, stoppages included. The Exeter day-coach, the "Herald,"

performed her journey of one hundred and seventy-three miles in

twenty hours; Stevenson's Brighton "Age" kept its time to the

minute; in short, from London to Cheltenham, Gloucester, Worcester,

Birmingham, Norwich, Bath, Bristol, Southampton, Oxford, Cambridge,

was little more than a pleasant Summer day's drive.

In order to accomplish the above fast journey two important

considerations were required; first, that the horses should not be

overworked, and, secondly, that they should be well fed. Horses have

increased greatly in price since the period I write of, and a team

which would have cost a hundred guineas in 1832 could not now be had

for two hundred and fifty guineas. The cost of coaches of the best

materials varied from one hundred and forty pounds to one hundred and

sixty pounds; generally speaking, they were hired from the maker at

from twopence half-penny to threepence per mile.

CHAPTER IV.

JOURNEY TO BATH IN THE PALMY DAYS OF COACHING--A DRIVING

GIOVANNI--"PARSON DENNIS"--CONTRAST TO THE ABOVE--TENNANT'S

DESCRIPTION--THE OLD BRIGHTON ROAD--MODERN IMPROVEMENTS--A

SQUIRE OF 1638.

CHAPTER IV.

I now proceed to describe the road as it was before panting steeds

had givin way to puffing engines, iron greys to iron rails, coachmen

and guards to stokers, and horseflesh to steam, which has been

likened to water in a high state of perspiration.

It was early in a morning, in the merry month of May, when I found

myself at the "White Horse Cellar," Piccadilly, just as the York

House coach was starting for Bath. I had previously secured the box

seat, and, encased in a double-breasted drab coat, waited the arrival

of a noble Duke, then a Marquis, well known to all the best coachmen

on the road as a most liberal patron, and a first-rate whip himself.

"Sorry to have kept you," said the newcomer, "but Swaine only sent

home the whip I promised you this morning; you will find it in this

narrow deal case."

"Allow me to give up my place to you," I said, addressing the Marquis.

"Thank you a thousand times," he replied, "I am unfortunately

engaged. We are going to man my new cutter, and pull to the Red House

and back."

The case was handed up; the dragsman expressed his thanks.

"All right behind, gentlemen," he thundered, fingering the ribbons in

the plenitude of vehicular importance. Away we went, rattling along

the stony pavement of Piccadilly at an awful rate to make up for the

lost time.

"Nice morning, Sir," said my companion, as we passed through the

turnpike-gate that then stood opposite the entrance to the Park, near

Apsley House. "The flowers are all a-blowing and a-growing." This

line he sang, and then continued, "My missus gave me these beautiful

violets about an hour ago."

"'Sam,' said she, 'I know I can trust you not to give them away to

any girls on the road.'"

I turned round to admire the bouquet and take a look at the wearer,

who fully realised the description of the swell-dragsman immortalised

in song by the late Hon. Fitzroy Stanhope. He was a well-dressed,

natty-looking fellow, decked out in a neat dark brown coat, white

hat, corduroy breeches, well polished boots, cloth leggings, and

a splendid pair of double-sewn buckskin gloves. A huge pair of

whiskers, shaped like a mutton chop, fringed the borders of each

cheek, and were (as a costermonger in Knightsbridge irreverently

remarked) large enough to pad a cart-saddle. In the course of

conversation he invariably indulged the outside passengers with

snatches of the popular ditties of the day, "Oh, say not woman's

heart is bought," "Love has Eyes," "Will you come to the bower?"

"Savourneen Deelish," "The Thorn," and "Sally in our Alley."

I soon discovered, from his manners and remarks, that my new

coaching ally was a prodigious favourite with the fair sex, and

from the roguish leer that he gave the respective damsels at the

different inns and public-houses, I fancied he did not quite merit

the confidence his wife placed in him. Indeed, when we stopped to

change horses at Slough, I saw the faithless Lothario present the

pretty barmaid of the "Red Lion" with the bunch of violets, which she

placed near her heart. Nay, more, if my optics did not deceive me,

he implanted a kiss on the rosy lips of the blooming landlady, who

faintly exclaimed, "For shame, you naughty man."

As I had won the good graces of this driving Giovanni, not only by

listening to the story of his conquests over the rural Hebes, who

dispensed their smiles and liquor to him, but by commending his voice

in "Pray, Goody," which I declared to be equal to Sinclair's, he

offered me the reins just after passing the "Sun Inn" at Maidenhead.

"Take 'em gently up the hill," said he, "and then you can have a

spirt over the thicket."

To say that I was proud is to say nothing, for, having passed a few

months with a private tutor at Littlewick Green, within two miles of

the spot where we were, I felt that I should cut no little figure as

I drove by the "Coach and Horses," a wayside public-house where I and

my companions used to keep our guns when at our tutor's.

"Do you pull up at the 'Coach and Horses?'" I inquired, in so

nervous a manner--I was then young, and, as Shakespeare writes, "in

my salad days"--that the coachman, who is what is termed "wide-awake"

upon all affairs of the heart, guessed my motive.

"We can, Sir, if you like," he responded. "Perhaps Dick has a parcel

to leave for Squire Lee. Anything for the thicket?" he continued,

turning to the "shooter" behind, and giving him a knowing wink, a

hint which the other took at once.

"Why, yes, Sam; I wish to know whether Mr. Vansittart has sent for

the empty sack I left there last Monday."

As we reached the well-known spot where I had passed many a half-hour

in the society of the pretty, innocent girl whose fair face, blue

eyes, auburn ringlets, and bewitching smile had turned the heads of

all the youths in the neighbourhood, my heart began to palpitate, my

hands to tremble, and I should have driven past the house had not my

box companion caught hold of the reins with a firm grasp and pulled

the horses up in front of the public-house. Fortunately, my Dulcinea

had not noticed the hand that assisted me, and, seeing the coach

stop, rushed to the door, exclaiming.

"Lord William! Who would have thought it! How much you have improved

in driving! Do you recollect when you upset the dog-cart close to

that pond?"

"I hope your father is well," I replied, anxious to change the

conversation; "and Sally--I mean Miss Sadbroke--let the coachman and

guard have a glass of your cream of the valley."

"Pray alight, my Lord," said the coachman, "I was not aware who I had

the honour of addressing. Dick, show his Lordship into the bar."

I jumped down, rushed into the well-known snuggery, shook hands

with poor old Sadgrove, who was a victim to what he called the

"rheumatiz," quaffed a glass of bright, sparkling ale, threw down a

crown piece, kissed my hand to the blooming girl, and mounted the

box, not a little elated with my adventure. But to quit this spot

of juvenile reminiscences. We trotted past my tutor's house on the

green, where I was cheered by the boys of the village school, and,

after an agreeable drive, reached Reading and then Newbury. Here the

passengers were allowed twenty minutes for dinner, where we (I can

answer for myself) did ample justice to the fare, which consisted of

a splendid boiled leg of mutton and a ham-and-veal pie.

"I go no further, gentlemen," said the coachman.

"All right," I responded, handing him a gold seven-shilling piece,

then a current coin of the realm.

"Good morning! and thank you, my Lord," replied the deposed monarch

of the whip. "I've told Mr. Dennis (commonly called Parson Dennis)

that your Lordship has your driving-gloves on."

Again mounting the box, I found myself seated by one of the smartest

men I ever met with at that period on the road. There was an air of

conceit about him that was truly amusing, and it was rendered doubly

so by his affected style of conversation. Unlike other dragsmen, he

was dressed in the plainest style imaginable--a well-brushed black

beaver hat, glossier than silk; a brown cutaway coat, dark Oxford

mixed overalls, highly-polished Wellington boots, and fawn-coloured

double kid gloves. The first object of my new companion was to inform

me that he was well born, that he had been educated at Oxford, and

that he was the most popular man at Bath; indeed, so much so that he

was called the Beau Nash of the road. Unquestionably, according to

his own showing, he was entitled to that distinction, for he offered

to point out all the sights of the English Montpellier, including the

assemblies, theatre, pump-room, crescents, gardens, walks, and abbey.

So delighted was I with the dandified manner of my companion that the

journey passed rapidly away.

On leaving Marlborough, he offered me the reins, which I accepted;

and during the last stage he begged I would accept a pinch of the

best Petersham mixture, informing me that it was a present from the

noble Lord of that name, to whom he had been presented by an old

Oxford acquaintance. Upon reaching the city of Bladud and driving

up to the "York House," Mr. Dennis, with the air of Louis le Grand,

politely took off his hat, wished me good evening, thanked me for my

gratuity, and said that if I mentioned his name at the hotel every

attention would be paid to me.

As a contrast to the above, let me show how our great-grandfathers

travelled in 1739. Tennant writes as follows:--

"In March I changed my Welsh school for one nearer to the capital,

and travelled in the Chester stage, then no despicable vehicle for

country gentlemen. The first day, with much labour, we got from

Chester to Whitchurch, twenty miles; the second day to the "Welsh

Harp," the third to Coventry, the fourth to Northampton, the fifth to

Dunstable; and, as a wondrous effort, on the last to London before

the commencement of the night. The strain and labour of six horses,

sometimes eight, drew us through the slough of Mireden and many other

places. We were constantly out two hours before day, and as late at

night, and in the depth of Winter proportionately later. Families who

travelled in their own carriages contracted with Benson and Co., and

were dragged up in the same number of days."

The single gentlemen--then a hardy race--equipped in jack-boots, rode

post, through almost impassable roads, guarded against the mire,

defying the frequent stumbles and falls, pursuing their journey with

alacrity, while in these our days their enervated posterity sleep

away their rapid journeys in easy railway carriages, fitted for the

soft inhabitants of Sybaris. I can vouch for the latter, for I left

York a few weeks ago at night, after delivering a lecture of an hour

and a quarter, and was in bed in Hans Place by four o'clock in the

morning.

In bygone days a journey to Brighton occupied one entire day.

Latterly the march of improvement has made rapid strides upon all

roads. Brighton can now be reached in an hour and thirteen minutes;

first class fares, by express (which are about to be reduced),

thirteen shillings and threepence; by ordinary trains, ten shillings;

second class express, ten shillings; ordinary trains, seven shillings

and ninepence; third class, four shillings and sixpence. An inside

passenger by the old coach had to pay sixteen shillings to Brighton;

and for excess of luggage, if he carried what is now allowed to

a first class passenger, a further charge of eight shillings and

fourpence would be made; total, one pound four shillings and

fourpence.

"This is the patent age of inventions." So wrote Byron, more than

sixty years ago. Had he lived in our time how much greater cause

would he have had to make the remark; for since the days of the

noble poet how many inventions have been introduced! Steamboats and

railways instead of canvas sails and horses; active, wide-awake

policemen instead of superannuated, sleeping "Charlies" of the

Dogberry school; brilliant gas in lieu of the darkness-made-visible

light, "whose oily rays shot from the crystal lamp."

No longer can we hail the "officious link-boy's smoky light," except

during a dense thick, pea-soup coloured fog in the suicidal month of

November. Instead of paved streets we have macadamised roads, albeit,

there are some wiseacres who are (to adopt the old joke) _putting

their heads together_ to form a wooden pavement. We have light

broughams and neat cabs instead of the rattling "agony" or hackney

coach; iron vessels have taken the place of the "wooden walls of Old

England," though our gallant tars are still "hearts of oak;" light

French wines have driven good old humble port from our cellars, much

to the advantage of gouty subjects.

Last, not least, the improved system of locomotion enables the

sportsman to hunt from London, to enjoy his breakfast and return to

his dinner in the metropolis, to run down to Ascot, Epsom, Egham,

Brighton, Croydon, Sandown Park, Windsor, and Goodwood races, and be

back at night, while the follower of old Isaac Walton may kill his

trout in some of the Berkshire or Hampshire streams and enjoy the

pleasure of his (the fish's) company at a seven o'clock dinner in

London.

Of course, occasionally there are discomforts connected with the

rail, for on a fine Summer's day it is far more agreeable to view the

country from a travelling chariot, britchka, or stage-coach, than to

be shot forth like an arrow from a crossbow, at an awful rate, amidst

a hissing, whizzing, ear-piercing, shrill, sharp noise, something

between a catcall in the gallery of some transpontine theatre on

Boxing Night and the war-whoop of the Ojibbeway Indians after a

scalping-party in North America. Then the odour! Instead of the scent

of the brier, the balmy bean-field, the cottage-side honeysuckle, the

jessamine, you have an essence of villanous compounds--sulphur, rank

oil, and soot.

Again, the railway traveller occasionally finds his luggage missing;

sometimes it is lost; our only wonder is that the above does not

happen more frequently when we find the platform filled with loungers

of all classes. Whether there are more fatal accidents by rail (in

proportion to the excess of travellers) over those who formerly

journeyed by road we know not for certain, but we are disposed to

think there are not.

Therefore, to sum up, if the question was "Road _versus_ Rail,"

taking all the pros and cons into consideration, we should give the

verdict for the defendant.

The modern lover of field sports is no longer a drunken, rollicking,

two or four-bottle man; he prefers the society of the ladies in

the drawing-room to that of the half-inebriated gentlemen in the

dining-room; he dresses in a becoming manner, seldom swears, and, as

far as his means go, keeps open house. What a contrast is this to the

sportsman of bygone days! Perhaps, however, the following is the most

curious picture of the sporting life and rude habits of the English

country gentleman of the olden time, extant.

"In the year 1638 lived Mr. Hastings, second son of an Earl of

Huntingdon. He was, peradventure, an original in our age, or rather

the copy of our ancient nobility in hunting, not in warlike times.

He was low, very strong, and very active, of a reddish flaxen hair.

His clothes, always green cloth, and never all worth (when new) five

pounds; his house was perfectly of the old fashion, in the midst of

a large park, well stocked with deer, and near the house rabbits, to

serve his kitchen; many fishponds, great store of wood and timber, a

bowling green in it (long, but narrow), full of high ridges, it being

never levelled since it was ploughed. They used round lead bowls, and

it had a banqueting house, like a stand, built in a tree.

"He kept all manner of sport-hounds, that ran buck, fox, hare, otter,

and badger; and hawks, long and short-winged. He had all sorts of

nets for fish; he had a walk in the New Forest and the Manor of

Christ Church.

"This last supplied him with red deer, sea and river fish; and,

indeed, all his neighbours grounds and royalties were free to him,

who bestowed all his time on these sports. He was popular with his

neighbours, and was ever a welcome guest at their houses; he, too,

kept open house, where beef, pudding, and small beer, were to be

had in plenty; his great hall was full of marrow bones, and full

of hawks' perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers, the upper side

of which was hung with foxes' brushes, here and there a polecat

intermixed.

"The parlour was a very large room, and properly furnished. On a

great hearth, paved with brick, lay some terriers, and the choicest

hounds and spaniels. Seldom but two of the great chairs had litters

of young cats in them, which were not to be disturbed, he having

always three or four attending him at dinner, and a little white

round stick of fourteen inches lying by his trencher, that he might

defend such meat as he had no mind to part with to them.

"The windows (which were very large) served for places to lay his

arrows, crossbows, stonebows, and other such-like accoutrements. The

corners of the room full of the best chase hunting and hawking poles,

an oyster-table at the lower end, which was of constant use twice a

day all the year round, for he never failed to eat oysters before

dinner and supper through all seasons; the neighbouring town of Poole

supplied him with them. The upper part of the room had two small

tables and a desk, on the one side of which was a Church Bible, and

on the other the 'Book of Martyrs.'

"On the tables were hawks' hoods, bells, and such like, two or three

old green hats, with their crowns thrust in, so as to hold ten or a

dozen eggs, which were of a pheasant kind of poultry he took much

care of, and fed himself. Tables, dice, cards, and bowls were not

wanting. In the hole of the desk were scores of tobacco-pipes that

had been used.

"On one side of this end of the room was the door of a closet,

wherein stood the strong beer and the wine, which never came thence

but in single glasses, that being the rule of the house strictly

observed, for he never exceeded in drink or permitted it. On the

other side was the door into an old chapel, not used for devotion;

the pulpit, as the safest place, was never wanting of a cold chine of

beef, venison pasty, gammon of bacon, or great apple-pie, with thick

crust, extremely baked.

"His table cost him not much, though it was good to eat at; his

sports supplied all but beef and mutton, except Fridays, when he had

the best salt fish (as well as other fish) he could get, and that was

the day his neighbours of best quality most visited him. He never

wanted a London Pudding, and always sang it in with 'My past lies

therein--a.'

"He drank a glass of wine or two at meals, very often syrup of

gilliflower in his sack, and had always a tun glass without feet

by his side, holding a pint of small beer, which he often stirred

with rosemary. He was well natured, but soon angry; he lived to be a

hundred; never lost his eye-sight, but always read and wrote without

spectacles, and got on horseback without help. Until past fourscore

he rode to the death of a stag as well as any."

CHAPTER V.

COACH _versus_ RAIL--DESCRIPTION OF A COACH JOURNEY FROM LONDON

TO BATH--DIFFERENCES OF OPINION--THE COACH DINNER--LUXURIOUS

LIVING--SNUG HÔTELLERIES--ENGLISH _versus_ FOREIGN COOKING.

CHAPTER V.

"Every medal has its reverse." Many persons may be found who denounce

coaching as an abomination; while others declare that railway

travelling is most fatal only not to the lives, but to the comforts

of Her Majesty's subjects. I pass over the dangers of the rail,

and will lay before my readers the opinions expressed by the two

contending parties. One declares that, among the many improvements

of which this age has been productive--and many and vast have they

been--that of travelling unquestionably bears the bell. The very

word, however, has now become a misnomer. It is no longer travelling;

it is flying over the country, luxuriously and triumphantly, at a

pace that equals the hurricane.

The rapidity with which travellers are now conveyed by steam over the

length and breadth of the country is a social advantage which, for

manifold purposes, cannot be too much appreciated. Some may remember,

and have not those suffered from, the old slow and sure system?

"This racks the joints,

This fires the veins,

That every labouring sinew strains,"

might have been the motto of those stage-coaches which in former days

pursued their way at the rate of six miles an hour, to the misery,

inconvenience, and detention of every passenger that was doomed to

the adoption of such conveyances. The pillory would now be preferable

to the top of a stage-coach on its passage from London to Exeter on a

dark, tempestuous night in December. What inexpressible horrors does

the very idea suggest!

The expense, too, was no trifling consideration; for after the

fare was paid, half of which was recouped if you did not put in

an appearance, fees were incessantly demanded and wrung from the

luckless traveller, as if he were a sheep born to be fleeced by a

pack of merciless hirelings.

Ere you started on your journey, a porter rushed up, and, whether

permitted or not, seized your carpet-bag or hat-box, and pitching

them into the boot, regardless of their contents, would turn round

and, with audacious effrontery, demand a fee for his trouble; ay, and

if he did not get it would abuse you roundly to your face. Then, the

dignity of the box-seat! "_Nota quæ sedes fuerat columbis_"--pigeons

they were, with a vengeance, that occupied it. At what price was it

purchased! Entailing a double fee--one to the porter for casting your

coat upon it, the other to the coachman for the privilege of sitting

with your teeth in the wind, sharing his conversation, his rug, and

his seat.

Talk not of the spicy team, the rattling bars, which for short

journeys in fine weather was an agreeable way of travelling; but for

distances the inside of a coach was almost insupportable. Outside in

Winter not much better.

Then, again, the great improvement in travelling since the road

gave way to the rail is never more deeply felt and rejoiced at than

at Easter, Whitsuntide, and the festive season of Christmas, as

it enables so many more to visit their friends in the country than

was formerly the case, with a greater amount, too, of comfort to

themselves, and at a considerably less expense.

In the old days of coaching and posting few, comparatively speaking,

would be conveyed to or from the metropolis. Those who travelled

post were often detained for horses; and those who went by coach had

to book their places weeks before, paying half the fare, and even

then a heavy fall of snow might put an end to all journeys. Now,

instead of sitting for hours wet through from the pelting pitiless

storm outside a coach--instead of being called by candlelight, and

traversing the streets in a slow rumbling vehicle, the traveller can

enjoy his breakfast in London, can be conveyed to the station in a

fast-trotting hansom, can sit snugly protected from the weather, and

reach his destination in a fourth of the time his predecessors could

on the road.

And here it may not be out of place to describe a journey by coach,

say from London to Bath, on a cold raw Winter's day. I speak of the

time when the old, crawling, creaking, rattling, six inside vehicle

had not given way to the fast four-horse light coach.

Often have I travelled by one of these wretched conveyances to

Newbury, when I was at a private tutor's at Donnington Grove. As

lucifer-matches had not then been introduced, the only method

of getting a light was by striking a flint against a steel in a

tinder-box. Your candle lit, a hasty toilet made, you descended, if

at an hotel, into a coffee-room, miserably lit, and reeking with the

odour of gin, brandy, and punch.

At that early hour, breakfast was out of the question. Then there

was the uncertainty whether the hackney-coach you had ordered over

night would be forthcoming; if it did arrive, you reached the "White

Horse Cellar" or "Gloucester" Coffee-House by a little before six,

where a glass of rum and milk, or some "early purl," might be had. If

an inside passenger, you were subjected to being "cribb'd, cabin'd,

confined" in a small compass, without head or knee room, for nearly

sixteen hours. If an outsider, there was the discomfort of cold

winds, drifting snow, heavy rain, and dripping umbrellas.

Then the dinners on the road--twenty minutes allowed, with its

scalding soup stained warm water, its tough steaks, its Scotch

collops, "_liquidis profusus odoribus_," its underdone boiled leg of

mutton, its potatoes, hot without and hard within. Then the scramble

for a nook by the fire to dry the soaked coat, cloak, or hat; then

the change of coachmen, all of whom expected to be remembered; then

the fees to guard and porters. Let anyone picture to himself or

herself the miseries of such a journey, and be thankful that they

have all nearly vanished under the mighty power of steam.

Having given the opinions of the advocates of the rail, I turn to

those of the road, who thus describe the delights of a journey in a

fast coach.

They suppose a fine Spring morning, when you find yourself seated

by the side of a pleasant companion, behind four blood horses, the

roads sufficiently watered by an April shower to lay the dust; the

hedgerows shooting forth--buds unfolding, flowers bursting out;

the birds carolling cheerfully, as if to welcome the return of

Spring; the sun smiling upon the snug cottages, the picturesque

village churches, the small hamlets, the peaceful homesteads,

the neatly-kept gardens, whose early produce were beginning to

bloom--such were the _agréments_ of the road.

Every mile presented a new feature; the green fields, the earth

teeming with fertility, the velvet lawns, the verdant fields,

the luxuriant woods, the peaceful valleys, the shady lanes, the

blossomed orchards, the "balmy odours" of nature--her breath upon

the breeze--all combined to raise your dull spirits to a state of

ecstasy. Then the excitement as the well-appointed "drag" drove

through the village, the guard sounding his cheerful horn, and the

coach pulled up for a snack at a cleanly wayside public-house, where

the buxom landlady and the pretty barmaid dispensed the creature

comforts to the hungry guests, their appetites sharpened by a drive

of some twenty or five-and-twenty miles.

They then turn to the rail, declaring that, instead of the "balmy

odours" of nature--her breath upon the breeze--the traveller is

nearly suffocated with the rank smell of oil, smoke, gas, and

sulphur. Instead of gazing upon the beauties of England's rural

scenery, you are whirled along at the rate of fifty miles an hour,

amidst the densest smoke, the groanings of engines, through an

embankment of chalk or clay.

Just as you are contemplating a fine mountainous view, a stately

viaduct, a picturesque waterfall, or a placid lake, another train

meets yours, and entirely hides the prospect from you. Instead of

the warm welcome at the inn, apostrophised by Shenstone, or the less

ostentatious, although not less sincere, reception at the wayside

public-house, you are shown into a huge room that reminds you of the

spot where the lions are wont to be fed at the Zoological Gardens,

where all is noise, hurry, and confusion; where your pockets are

emptied and your inner man not filled, from the caloric qualities of

the food and the haste in which you are called upon to devour it; and

last, not least, they compare the comfort of a barouche and four, a

chariot and pair, starting at your own hour, stopping where you like,

with the levelling system of the rail, where high-born dames of great

degree are mixed with blacklegs and sharpers, where the "hereditary

pillars of the State" congregate with Whitechapel "gents" and

Corinthian "swells," where prim old maids are "cheek by jowl" with

libertine _roués_, where young and innocent boarding-school misses

sit next to _soidisant_ captains and needy fortune-hunters, where

unprincipled debtors are placed opposite their clamorous creditors,

where sage philosophers come in collision with unchained lunatics,

and proud peeresses are brought in contact with the frail and fair

ones of the demimonde.

They then describe a stage-coach dinner, contrasting it with one that

could be had at all good inns on the road when travelling luxuriously

in your own carriage. And they lay the scene at the "Red Lion,"

Henley-on-Thames; at the "Windmill," Salt-hill; at the "Pelican,"

Newbury; at the "Bear," Reading; at the "Sugar-loaf," Dunstable;

at the "Dun Cow," Dunchurch; at the "Hop Pole," Worcester; at the

"King's Arms," Godalming; at the "Castle," Taunton; at the "Lion,"

Shrewsbury; at the "Hand Inn," Llangollen, and at a variety of

other excellent inns, many of which have been swept away since the

introduction of the rail.

They dwell upon the good old English country fare, which did not

require the foreign aid of ornament. Not that they censure French

cooking; but what they find fault with--and I heartily concur in

this--is an attempt to transmogrify native dishes into Continental

ones by what the newspaper advertisements term "a professed woman

cook," who is as fit to send up a well-dressed _filet de volaille

à la Parisienne_, a _Maintenon cotelette_, or a _Vol au vent à la

financière_ as she would be to play a match of polo at Hurlingham, or

to take the part of the Countess in the "_Mariage de Figaro_."

The plain and perfect English dinners in bygone days generally

consisted of mutton broth, rich in meat and herbs; fresh-water fish

in every form, eels stewed, fried, boiled, baked, spitch-cocked, and

water-suchet; the purest bread and freshest butter; salmon and fennel

sauce; mackerel brought down by coach from the Groves of London,

with green gooseberries, and the earliest cucumbers; a saddle of

Southdown, kept to a moment and done to a turn; mutton chops, hot and

hot; marrow-bones; Irish stews; rump-steaks tender and juicy; chicken

and ham, plum-pudding, fruit tarts, trifles, and gooseberry-fool.

Then the produce of the grape--no thin, washy claret, at eighteen

shillings a dozen; no fiery port, one day in bottle; no sherry at

twenty-five guineas the cask; but fine old crusted port, sherry dry

and fruity, madeira that had made more than one voyage to India. Our

readers must decide between the two opinions.