Earl of Abingdon.

Hon. L. Agar Ellis.

Colonel Armytage.

Mr. J. L. Baldwin.

Mr. Hope Barton.

Earl of Bective.

Marquis of Blandford.

Lord Carington.

Mr. H. Chaplin.

Colonel Stracey Clitherow.

Viscount Cole.

Mr. W. Cooper.

Earl of Craven.

Mr. W. G. Craven.

Colonel Dickson.

Mr. H. W. Eaton.

Lieutenant-Colonel Ewart.

Adrian Hope.

H. R. Hughes.

Marquis of Huntly.

Sir John Lister Kaye, Bart.

Viscount Macduff.

Count Munster.

Officer driving 1st and 2nd Life Guards Coach.

Lord Muncaster.

Mr. W. E. Oakley.

Mr. R. W. Oswald.

Sir Lawrence Palk, Bart.

Sir Roger Palmer, Bart.

Major-General Sir T. Peyton, Bart.

Lord Poltimore.

Captain H. R. Ray.

Mr. C. Birch Reynardson.

Sir. M. Shaw Stewart, Bart.

Mr. Ans. Thomson.

Lord Tredegar.

Sir Henry Tufton, Bart.

Colonel Tyrwhitt.

Mr. F. Villiers.

Colonel the Hon. C. White.

Captain Whitmore.

Colonel Owen Williams.

Sir George Wombwell, Bart.

Mr. H. Wombwell.

Marquis of Worcester.

Officer driving "Blues" Coach.

CHAPTER XIII.

OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE MEN--ADVENTURE ON THE FAR-FAMED "TANTIVY"

COACH--GALLANT CONDUCT OF THE GUARD--MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT

DRIVING--JEM REVELL OF "THE PELICAN"--MY UPSET--TANDEM

DRIVING--THE OSTLER--COUNTRY INNS--HOTEL CHARGES.

CHAPTER XIII.

In the days I write of driving was a favourite pursuit, and,

independent of the four-in-hand clubs, every young fellow aspired

to handle the ribbons whenever a chance threw a drive in his way.

The Oxford and Cambridge men were first-rate dragsmen, and many a

reverend who may now devote his leisure to "coaching" youths for

college or the Army was then "coaching" very different teams. There

were some first-rate "turns-out" on the Oxford road. Never shall I

forget an adventure that occurred to me on the box of the far-famed

"Tantivy."

We had just entered the University from Woodstock, when suddenly the

horses started off at an awful pace. What made matters worse was that

we saw at a distance some men employed in removing a large tree

that had fallen during the storm of the previous night across the

road near St. John's College. The coachman shook his head, looking

very nervous, while the guard, a most powerful man, stood up to be

prepared for any emergency.

On we went, the coachman trying in vain to check the galloping

steeds, and we had got within a few yards of the critical spot, when

the guard, crawling over the roof, managed somehow or other to get on

the footboard, when, with a spring, he threw himself on the back of

the near wheeler, and with a giant's grasp checked the horses at the

very moment the leaders were about to charge the tree.

Down they came, but the guard never yielded an inch, and, with the

assistance of the country people nearest at hand the leaders regained

their legs without the slightest damage to man, horse, coach, or

harness. A subscription for our gallant preserver was got up on the

spot.

The coachmen of well-appointed "drags" were a privileged class,

they were familiar, "but by no means vulgar," and were universal

favourites with all who came in contact with them; Stevenson,

the high-bred University man, who, if not, up to "coaching" young

graduates for college honours, easily won his "great go" on the box;

Parson Dennis, who drove the "White Lion" coach to Bath, knew more

of modern than biblical Jehus; Black Will, who drove the Oxford

"Defiance," rather ferocious in appearance, but gentle by nature as a

lamb. Others, too, I might mention, if memory served me, who raised

themselves to the highest pinnacle of fame as civil, obliging, and

intelligent men.

Having already given the doings of others on the road, I shall now

proceed to record my own, hoping that I may be forgiven for indulging

in that offensive of all offensive pronouns--I.

"The root of all learning," writes Aristotle, "is bitter, but the

fruit is sweet," an apothegm which will particularly apply to driving.

I well remember, when I was at a private tutor's, at

Littlewick-green, Maidenhead Thicket, and subsequently at

Donnington-grove, near Newbury, and a bit of a swell, being greatly

smitten with the saying of the above learned philosopher. I never

got into a buggy, handled the ribbons, rattled the hired horse along

at a crack-skull pace of twelve miles an hour, which generally ended

in an upset, without reflecting on the above quoted authority which,

being interpreted, means it is wormwood to be immersed in a wet

ditch, but pleasant enough to get out again.

Poor defunct Jem Revell, of the "Pelican," Newbury, was my tutor.

Under his auspices I first mounted the box of a tandem, learned

the elegant and indispensable accomplishment of driving that most

dangerous vehicle, and studied the appalling manoeuvre of turning

out of a narrow inn-yard into a densely populated street. Every day,

after hours devoted to study, was my drive repeated, until in process

of time inexperience was conquered, and, "with elbows squared, and

wrists turned down," I could catch hold of the wheeler and leader, in

grand style--remembering with Horace that "sæpe _stylum_ vertas," and

give the go-by to less dashing whips, with a most condescending nod.

At last, after serving a long and tedious apprenticeship, I reached

the long-expected haven of success, and set up a dog-cart and pair

on my own account. Never shall I forget that proud hour of my triumph

when I made my first public essay out of the yard of the "Pelican,"

on my road to Reading races. I was accompanied by about five or six

of my comrades on horseback, and by one or two aspiring Dennets, the

drivers of which vainly essayed to beat my two thoroughbred nags.

As we entered the town, for a young "chum" of mine, now long since

gathered to his ancestors, sat by my side, the streets were lined

with an infinite assemblage of peers and peasants, squires and

blacklegs, sporting men and bettors, horse-dealers, jockeys, grooms,

trainers, and cardsellers.

However much it may tell against me--however greatly I may lower

myself in the estimation of the reader--truth compels me to admit

that my aspiring vanity metamorphosed the gaping crowd into admirers

of myself and my turn-out; and when my companion sounded the

mail-horn, when I cracked my whip and shook my head knowingly--well,

_there was not much in that_, as a cynic will remark--I, with "all my

blushing honours thick around me," felt as proud as any peacock that

ever strutted in a poultry-yard.

But, alas for human greatness! my pride was doomed to have a fall.

Just as we approached the "Bear Inn" the leader became restive,

turned round and stared me in the face, a mode of salutation by no

means agreeable; then he began to lash out, and finally succeeded in

upsetting us and breaking the shafts. Happily, we escaped unhurt in

body, though not in feeling.

In thus alluding to scenes of juvenile folly, I cannot forget that

I once was young, and that there are still many (among them my only

son, now studying farming at Her Majesty's Royal Norfolk Farm,

Windsor Great Park), with others at private tutors' and college,

equally devoted to the box as I was. To them I would offer a few

suggestions respecting tandem-driving, which of all vehicles is the

most difficult to manage.

Its height from the ground and peculiar lightness of construction

renders it, at first sight, a very formidable machine; and the only

way to prevent disaster is for the driver to obtain a firm grasp of

the reins before he ventures to cheer his tits, and to ascertain the

amount of work which wheeler and leader do, so that the traces may be

gently tightened--a proof that both animals are doing their duty. In

returning home at night there is no instinct like that of the horse;

he seems to acquire mind by the departure of light, and to succeed

best when man is most ready to despair.

I have trotted a tandem from London to Windsor, at twelve o'clock at

night, in the midst of the darkest and most tremendous thunderstorm I

ever witnessed, with little chance of safety but what I owed to the

docility of my horses. This is an instinct which, like that of the

prophet's ass, should not be balked; and so firmly am I convinced of

the superior intelligence of the quadruped to the biped, in cases of

similar difficulty, that I would actually give up my own fancy to

let him have his head, and make the best he can of it. In going down

hill, there is one very necessary caution to be observed to which I

must now refer.

The mode of harnessing a tandem differs from that most usually

adopted in a four-in-hand; so that if your leader is a faster

trotter than your wheeler, he draws the collar over the neck of the

shaft-horse, and a partial strangulation not unfrequently occurs.

To prevent this, keep your wheeler at his full pace, slackening in

the meantime the extra speed of your leader. The above is necessary

at all times--doubly so when going down hill. Whenever you stop to

bait, never omit to remain in the stable, unless you have a most

trustworthy groom, during the time of feeding. Depend upon it, _haud

inexpertus loquor_. There are modern ostlers, of course, with many

honourable exceptions, who are not unlike the coachmen satirised by

the author of "High Life Below Stairs:"

"If your good master on you dotes,

Ne'er leave his horse to serve a stranger;

But pocket hay, and straw, and oats,

And let the horses eat the manger."

The oat-stealer, as he has not inappropriately been named, of the

present day, will, we fear, in too many cases, follow the example

of the unprincipled fraternity above referred to. Independent of

this necessary caution, there is surely a feeling of gratitude due

to the poor dumb brutes who have toiled all day in our service; and

young dragsmen will do well to remember that humanity to defenceless

animals is the strongest characteristic of the British sportsman.

Through the introduction of the rail, a great saving has been

effected, both as regards time and inn bills. Some of the "old

school" still, as far as is feasible, stick to the road; but

declining accommodation must diminish their numbers every day.

Nothing is now so forlorn as a great, rambling, half aired, half

appointed country inn; waiter acting boots, boots acting postboy, or,

may be, all three; and cook acting chambermaid, barmaid, and all.

The extinction of the old posting-houses is, perhaps, the only thing

connected with the establishment of railways I lament.

There certainly was a nice, fresh, cool country air about the old

roadside inns that was particularly grateful and refreshing on a

fine evening after emerging from the roasting and stewing of a long

London season. The twining roses, the sweet-scented jasmine, the

fragrant honeysuckle, the bright evergreens, the flowers and fruit

in the trim gardens; above all, the real rich country cream, fresh

butter, and new-laid eggs. These--the inns--are now mere matter of

history; and the Irishman who travelled with his eggs "because he

liked them fresh" is no longer a subject of ridicule. Moreover, these

inns were often prettily situated--some by the side of gliding

rivers, others near rushing dams, or overlooking ancient bridges, or

commanding views over extensive ranges of rich country scenery--very

honeymoonish sort of places some of them were: witness the "White

Hart," Cranford Bridge; the "Castle," at Salt-hill; the "Salutation,"

Ambleside; the "White Horse," Haslemere; the "Talbot," Ripley; the

"Saracen's Head," Beaconsfield; "Royal Oak," Ivy Bridge; the "Bush,"

at Staines; "White Lion," Hartford Bridge, Hants; the "Swan," at

Chertsey; the "Castle," Speen Hill; "Sugar-Loaf," Dunstable; and

last, not least, the "Saracen's Head," Dunmow, suggestive of "The

Flitch of Bacon" and the duties of matrimony--

"To fools a torment, but a lasting boon

To those who wisely keep their honeymoon."

Happily a few are still kept for happy couples on their wedding tour.

The bill was generally the only disagreeable feature about these

rural caravansaries; and some of the innkeepers were uncommonly

exorbitant. Nevertheless, the majority of the victims were in a

favourable mood for imposition. Going to London, they had all the

bright prospect of a season's gaiety before them, and under that

impression people--wise people at least--were inclined to give the

reins of the purse a little license, and not criticise charges too

severely.

Happy is the man who can pass through life in this easy,

reins-on-the-neck sort of way, not suffering a slight imposition to

mar the general pleasure of his journey!

Returning from the metropolis, the country innkeeper had the

advantage of having his bill contrasted with a London one--an

ordeal that none but a real land shark would wish to shrink from. A

comparison of inn charges throughout England, Wales, Ireland, and

Scotland, for the same style of entertainment, would be curious

if not instructive. They would show (what, however, almost every

other line of life shows) that one often pays double for nearly the

same thing by going to different places for it. Take a bottle of

soda-water, for instance. Walk into a large, fashionable hotel, and

desire the waiter to bring you one. You drink it, and ask,

"What's to pay?"

"A shilling, if you please, Sir," (or ninepence--which is the same

thing), waiters at large hotels never having any coppers. If you

were to go to the next chemist's you would get it for fourpence--very

likely of the same quality. But the great impositions were, after

all, the charges for wax-lights and breakfasts.

Gas has now superseded the former, but breakfasts were and are still

charged too high. "Breakfast, with eggs and bacon, three shillings

and sixpence," was and is the charge at fashionable hotels; at less

pretentious ones you may get the same for two shillings, or at most

half-a-crown.

CHAPTER XIV.

NOBLE AND GENTLE DRAGSMEN--JOURNEY TO NEWMARKET--LORD

GRANTLEY'S TEAM--A REFRACTORY WHEELER--USE AND ABUSE OF THE

BEARING REIN--THE RUNNING REIN--HARNESS OF THE PRESENT DAY--THE

ROYAL MAIL--GENERAL REMARKS ON DRIVING.

CHAPTER XIV.

Among the amateur knights of the whip of bygone days, though still

remembered by many of the present generation, may be mentioned the

late Duke of Beaufort, the Earls of Chesterfield and Harborough,

Lords Poltimore, Grantley, and Suffield, Colonel the Honourable

Lincoln Stanhope, the Honourable Fitzroy Stanhope, Sir St. Vincent

Cotton, Sir Henry Peyton, Captains Angerstein and Tollemache.

The head of the Somerset family was a very steady dragsman, and

knew his business well. He was a less showy coachman than Lord

Chesterfield; but his Grace had the qualification of making each

horse do his quantum of work.

Lord Chesterfield, had he possessed a little more steadiness, would

have been scarcely inferior to Stevenson, of the Brighton "Age;" but

his exuberant, buoyant spirits ran away with him sometimes; he would

lark, and the "old gentleman" himself could not have stopped him. His

drag was as well appointed as the Duke's, and looked coaching all

over, without a spice of slang, the prevailing error of many amateurs

of that day.

Lord Harborough gave the tyros a hint touching the stamp of horses

befitting the occasion. He always drove a good sort himself, and

eschewed the long tails; and, but for a little infirmity of temper

occasionally, he put his team along in very good form. No man can

excel on the box who is not gifted with good temper and patience;

for not only his comfort, but his life and the necks of his friends

depend upon the above qualities. Horses have as many whims and

caprices as their drivers have; they entertain likes and dislikes, in

imitation of their owners; and a little attention to the temper and

disposition of this useful quadruped is as necessary as any part of

the supervision of the stable.

Lord Poltimore's team of roans were always up to the mark, and

were such fast steppers that any one of them might justly have

been termed the _rapid Rhone_. His Lordship had the smartness and

quickness so essential in a thoroughly good dragsman.

Four such horses as Lord Grantley's were never put together in the

days I write of--they were in every sense of the word matchless.

They were purchased at four years old in Yorkshire, and stood nearly

seventeen hands high, the colour Arabian grey, with black manes and

tails. This was the only admissible case of switch tails; the size

and figure of those splendid animals were a sufficient reason for

their not being docked. The drag was not a drag, it was an old tub of

a family carriage, unworthy the beautiful horses his Lordship drove.

Lord Suffield was the quickest and smartest coachman I ever sat on

the box with, and never shall I forget a journey I took with him to

Newmarket to attend the July Meeting. We started from "Grillon's

Hotel" in Albemarle Street, where his Lordship resided, with four as

nice cattle as ever the lover of driving could wish to sit behind;

but upon reaching the first stage I found, to my dismay, that we

were to proceed with posters for the rest of the journey. The team

came forth from the yard, and were with some difficulty put to, for

the near-side wheel, a mare, was somewhat cantankerous; there was

a lurking devil in her eye which foreboded mischief. She took an

exception, in the first place, to the pole pieces, and would not

be coupled up; this, however, after a little dodging, leaning, and

squealing, was achieved, and then came the start--or, rather, I

should say the time for starting; not an inch, however, would she

budge. She planted her fore feet at a most resisting angle in front

of her, and there she stuck; the united forces of the leaders and her

collaborateur, the offside wheeler, were insufficient to move her.

Coaxing, persuasion, and all sorts of soothing arts were lavished on

her in vain; and as the _suaviter in modo_ failed the _fortiter in

re_ was tried, and with a better result, for after shoving, thumping,

and double thonging, she suddenly bolted into her collar and started

off at an awful pace. Suffield kept her head straight, though for

miles nothing could stop her.

At last the nonsense was taken out of her, and we reached our

destination in safety. The mare, as may be imagined, was in no very

enviable plight; she shook from head to foot; but we afterwards

heard that the lesson she had received was not thrown away, and that

she ever after took kindly to her work.

Colonel Lincoln Stanhope had a good team, but he was not a

first-rate whip. His brother Fitzroy was incomparably one of the

best gentlemen-coachmen in England. Many an aspirant to four-in-hand

celebrity was indebted to him for the knowledge in driving they

possessed; and many a friend's life was saved by his presence of

mind, coolness, courage, and skill, as I have already said.

Sir St. Vincent Cotton was a first-rate coachman; and, although he

must be ranked among the _genus irritabile_, he possessed great

coolness, which he invariably exercised when occasion required it.

His horses got away with him more than once, as I can vouch for; but

I know not the man with whom I would sooner be seated on the box

under such trying circumstances. His strength of arm was prodigious;

and, although not quite so showy or graceful a whip as some of his

compeers, he was a steady and safe one.

Sir Henry Peyton was _nulli secundus_: he belonged to the old school;

his team was always the same, and his horses were of the right

sort--large ones in a small compass.

Captain Angerstein's turn-out was exceedingly neat, but his horses

never had a fair chance, as he was continually changing them; and

Captain Tollemache was first rate as an amateur whip. Many others are

equally worthy of honourable mention, but I have confined myself to

those I have sat beside on the box.

A fashion has lately sprung up amongst us, or rather, I should

say, been adopted (for it is of American origin), and that is the

almost total abolition of the bearing-rein. Much has been said,

written, and argued pro and con.; some assert, and with truth, that,

generally speaking, it is less safe, for as the best and soundest

horse may once in twelve months make a mistake, the advocates for

the loose rein cannot help to admit that a bearing-rein must assist

the horse to recover himself under such circumstances. All extremes

are bad, and no one would wish to torture an animal's mouth by

pulling his head into an unnatural position, like a dromedary,

with an excruciatingly tight bearing-rein; but, on the other hand,

the absence of one is open to objection. Some horses may, and do,

carry themselves so well that a bearing-rein appears superfluous;

but, nevertheless, it may be useful, and for this reason should

never be entirely dispensed with. I do not say that exceptions may

not be permitted. Those possessed of thoroughbred horses, endowed

with superior action, may indulge in any whim or caprice they like;

and animals worth from four hundred guineas to six hundred guineas

apiece, and which go with their heads up, of course do not require

a bearing-rein, but I condemn the principle for universal adoption;

and I have heard the opinions of some of the best coachmen of the

day, both amateurs and professionals, who have asserted that for the

generality of horses the practice is a dangerous one. Some animals'

heads are put on differently from others, and consequently they vary

in their mode of carrying them. Some, for instance, are star-gazers

and appear to be taking lunar observations, while others poke their

heads forward in such a longitudinal form that they resemble in this

particular the Continental swine trained for grubbing truffles. The

plan I should like to see adopted would be to have a bearing-rein

with an elastic end to it, so that horses that did not require

having their heads held well up would not be deprived of the ornament

of such a rein, and even with horses that did require it, if the

elastic was pretty strong, it would aid them in case of a trip or

stumble.

In former days it was the custom to drive with wheel-reins home--that

is, short to the hand; this was decidedly objectionable, especially

in hilly counties; and, with groggy wheel-horses, not unattended

with danger, for an awkward blunder might pull you from the box. The

running-rein is now universally adopted, and in skilful hands is

immeasurably superior to the old system. This is observable in the

best-appointed fast coaches, of which there are happily still a few

left, as well as private carriages.

The harness of the present day is the _ne plus ultra_ of good taste:

it is infinitely lighter than formerly, although equally strong, and

the less a horse is encumbered the better. Look how superlatively

neat are the traces of the coaching clubs; they are narrow, but the

strength lies in the thickness, and the collars fit to a nicety. The

four-in-hand clubs have set a laudable example; they have produced

emulation, and emulation produces good horses.

_Cuique sua voluptas_--which, I believe, literally construed, means

"every hog to his own apple;" and, delightful as driving a private

drag is--for it pleases the ladies, and all goes "merry as a marriage

bell" in an excursion to Richmond, Greenwich, Maidenhead, the Crystal

or Alexandra Palaces--it, perhaps, was exceeded by the pleasure of

sitting on the box-seat of one of the Royal mails, with four fresh

horses every eight miles, and a guard decked out in regal livery

behind to whisper in your ear if you did not keep your time. The

night-mail was very preferable to a day coach--first, because you

seldom met any seedy old fellows outside the mail enveloped in stuff

cloaks, with cotton umbrellas, which on a rainy day acted as a spout

to convey the water down your neck, and who, on seeing the coachman

give up the ribbons would instanter bawl out.

"I say, coachman, I can't allow that."

Then the pace on the mail was always good. Again, the mail was not

encumbered with huge piles of massive black boxes, fantastically

worked with brass nails, belonging to the lady passenger inside;

and last, not least, there was a sort of glorious autocratical

independence when you felt that every vehicle on the road made way

for the Royal mail.

There is no circumstance of greater importance, as tending to the

pleasure and facility with which horses are driven, than that of

putting them well together; this, of course, applies to a four-horse

team. By this term the due regulation of the harness and the most

appropriate place for each horse are implied. If properly attended

to, it is wonderful the ease with which four horses may be driven,

compared with the effort--in some cases risk--consequent upon an

injudicious and unskilful disposition of the appointments. With

regard to the team, a little extra power in the wheel-horses is

desirable, inasmuch as they have a greater portion of labour

to perform in holding back the vehicle down hill; while the

high-couraged and free-goers will be most advantageously driven as

leaders. Practice alone will render a man a proficient in driving

four horses.

To explain the proper mode of handling "the ribbons," except by

actual example, is not an easy task; and the attempt to give hints

from which the _sine quâ non_ of a good coachman--hands--are to

be acquired, is still more difficult. A few general remarks may,

however, not be out of place.

The position of the hand and arm has much to do with appearance, and

a vast deal more with the art of driving. The left hand should be

carried nearly parallel with the elbow, covering about one third of

the body: in that position it is ready for the immediate aid of the

right whenever the two are required, which in bearing to the right or

left of the road, or in turning, is generally the case, as likewise

in shortening the hold of the reins.

The right hand should at all times be kept as free as possible, so

as to be able to make a judicious use of the whip when required. A

good mouth is essential to comfort and safety; it enables a horse to

be guided simply by a turn of the wrist. Many a good mouth, however,

has been spoilt by the heavy, dead pull of an inexperienced driver.

The greatest care, then, should be taken not to irritate or suddenly

check the animal, but by a certain yielding of the hands (the reins

being divided in each), enable him to drop his head and play with the

bit.

The experienced driver may easily be recognised from the novice

the moment he approaches the vehicle he is about to ascend. He

invariably casts his scrutinising eye over his horses, his harness,

and his carriage, and, if the least thing be out of place, detects it

in an instant; nay, more, he will assist in putting to the horses;

and, if I required an illustration of what I have asserted, I should

find it in the person of the Duke of Beaufort, who, at the sale of

Sir Thomas Barrett Lennard's hunters, last October, before mounting

the box, aided in putting the team together, and, when his Grace

ascertained that all was right, started off in a manner that would

have gratified the heart of Sir Henry Peyton had he been alive to

witness it.

CHAPTER XV.

CARRIAGES OF BYGONE DAYS AND THE PRESENT--THE

CABRIOLET--ANECDOTE OF THE LATE DUKE OF WELLINGTON--A HUNTING

ADVENTURE--AN EVENTFUL DAY--A LUCKY ESCAPE--NOBLE CONDUCT OF

THE IRON DUKE--SUGGESTIONS.

CHAPTER XV.

Among the "wild vicissitudes of taste," few things have undergone

greater changes than carriages used for pleasure; we need not go

further back than the last half century to prove what we have said.

Formerly there was the lumbering heavy family coach, emblazoned with

coats of arms, with a most gaudy-coloured hammer-cloth, and harness

resplendent with brass or silver work. Then there was the neat,

light travelling postchaise, and the britzska--the latter imported

from Germany--for those who posted on the roads; together with the

graceful curricle, in which the gallant Anglesey and the arbiter

of fashion, Count Alfred d'Orsay, were wont to disport themselves

in the park; the four-horse "drag," the unpretending "tilbury,"

the rural-looking "dennet," the sporting mail-coach phaeton,

the vis-à-vis, and the cabriolet, a French invention, which was

introduced into England after the campaign in the Peninsula.

Of the above few remain. Royalty and some of the leading aristocrats

alone patronise coaches. Travelling-carriages, tilburies, dennets,

curricles, vis-à-vis, cabriolets, are things of the past, and all

that remain to us are town-chariots, "drags," and mail-phaetons, in

addition to which we have "broughams," "victorias," waggonettes, and

a few private Hansom cabs.

It will scarcely be believed that, some five-and-forty years ago,

almost every nobleman and gentleman used the cabriolet, "slightly

altered from the French" (as the playbills say), to convey him to

dinner, balls, and parties; for example, the late Duke of Wellington,

when Ambassador to the newly-restored monarch, Louis XVIII., in

1814-15, seldom, except on state occasions, made use of any other

vehicle, the carriages being devoted to the service of the Duchess.

This I can vouch for, for at that period I was attached to his

Grace's staff, and was always in the habit of driving him when

occupied in paying visits in the morning or of attending dinners and

parties in the evening.

Never shall I forget one evening, at Paris, when driving my chief

in his cabriolet from the Hôtel Borghese to the Théâtre Français,

I very nearly upset the vehicle; and, as the accident occurred in

a very crowded street, it might have been attended with serious

consequences. It was an eventful day in my life; and, to explain

my distraction on that occasion, I must enter at some length into

the cause of it. This I do most readily, as the whole transaction

reflects so much credit on the Duke's kindness of heart.

One morning, late in December, the curricle was at the door, and

I, equipped for the chase, was waiting to drive Wellington in his

curricle to Versailles, the place where the Royal stag-hounds were to

meet, when he sent for me. I found him busy over some papers.

"I shall not be able to go to-day," said he, "but you can have the

curricle. Tell the Duke de Berri I have some letters to write, as the

messenger starts for England at two o'clock, which will prevent my

meeting His Royal Highness. Elmore is sent on for me; and, as he is

short of work, you had better ride him. Don't knock him about."

I briefly expressed my thanks, and started for the rendezvous, where

I delivered my message, and mounted the far-famed hunter, Elmore,

recently purchased in England for the Duke at a high price. From the

manner in which he carried me (at that time a very light weight) many

of the field were anxious to possess him; indeed, it was hinted to me

that the Duke could command almost any sum for him.

A party of young men headed by Count d'Orsay, afterwards so well

known in London, proposed a steeplechase home for a sweepstakes of

one Napoleon each, which, had Elmore been my own property, I should

have gladly entered him for; but I remembered the Duke's injunction

and declined.

Delighted with the character the new purchase had obtained, I started

to ride quietly home by myself, when, within half a league of Paris,

in crossing a small grip, I found that my horse went lame. To

dismount and inspect his foot was the work of a moment, but I could

see nothing. No alternative was then left me but to lead the limping

animal home, which I did amidst the taunts and jeers of the rabble.

No sooner had I reached the stables than I sent for the head-groom

and the Duke's state coachman, to whom I explained all that had

occurred.

"Well, you have gone and done it," said the latter, who was a most

eccentric character. "We wouldn't have taken three hundred guineas

for that horse."

This knight of the ribbons, be it remarked, always spoke in the

plural number, and talked of what _we_ had done in the Peninsula, of

_our_ triumphal entry into Madrid, and of how _we_ had beaten Ney and

all the French marshals.

Happily for me the Duke, who had been occupied all day, was out

riding, and I did not see him until we met at dinner. I had fully

made up my mind to tell him of the accident before going to bed, but

waited until I received a further account of the horse's state.

As a large party was assembled, little was said about the hunt until

the ladies left the room, when I was called upon to give an account

of the run, which I did. I then mentioned the brilliant manner in

which Elmore had carried me, and the panegyrics he had received from

all.

"A splendid animal," said Wellington, "I hope to ride him next Monday

at Fontainebleau."

My heart quailed within me. The hours glided on, and when driving the

Duke to the theatre that evening in his cabriolet, so distracted was

I that I grazed the curbstone, and was within an inch of knocking

over one of the gendarmes as we approached the theatre.

It was late when we arrived; the last scene of "Orestes" was going

on, with Talma as the hero; then followed the inimitable Mademoiselle

Mars in "La Jeunesse de Henri Cinq," from which the English version

of "Charles the Second" has been adapted.

To account for the change of monarchs, and to explain the

inconsistency of having the wicked Earl of Rochester, the companion

of "Sweet Prince Hal," I may remark that when the drama was first

about to be brought out in Paris, during the reign of Napoleon I.,

the licenser objected to Charles, he being a restored Monarch, so the

author had no alternative left him but to rewrite the whole piece

or change his hero. The latter course he adopted, trusting that a

Parisian audience would not detect the anachronism. The perfect

acting of Talma had no charm for me, and when the after-piece began

I was too wretched to laugh at the _bonhomie_ of the actor who

represented Captain Copp, or to appreciate the archness of that child

of nature, Mlle. Mars as Betty.

Upon leaving the theatre I became so thoroughly distracted that I

scarcely knew what I was about; unluckily a young horse, who was a

little skittish, had on that evening taken the place of the one that

I had been in the habit of driving, and, as there was an unusual

crowd in the streets, extra care was necessary.

"With great difficulty I threaded my way through carriages of all

descriptions, and was approaching the Rue de Rivoli when I heard a

clattering of horses' hoofs behind me and the cheers of some hundreds

of people assembled near the entrance to the Palace of the Tuileries.

"It is the King returning from the Louvre, where His Majesty has been

dining with the Duke d'Orléans," said my companion.

At that moment my thoughts were entirely engrossed with Elmore, and

I was rehearsing to myself how I should break the untoward news of

the accident to the Duke. So, instead of pulling the left rein to

enable the royal cortége and the cavalry escort to pass me, I pulled

the right one, and very nearly brought my chief to grief. Happily,

however, at this moment the only damage done was to the leg of a

mounted police officer, who soundly rated me in language unfit to be

repeated.

Misfortunes they say never come singly; we had not proceeded many

yards, when a _gamin_, who had evidently a taste for pyrotechnic

exhibitions, let off a cracker, which so frightened the animal I was

driving that he bolted across the street, came in contact with a

lamp-post, and as near as possible upset the cabriolet. What made it

appear worse was that the escort above referred to was returning at a

brisk trot to their barracks, and, had we been overturned, the Duke

might, for the first time in his military career, have been trampled

upon by French cavalry.

"Lucky escape!" was the only remark Wellington made, and as the

danger to which I had exposed him had completely roused me from my

lethargy, I at once "screwed my courage to the sticking place" and

told the whole of my day's adventures with the hounds.

"Can't be helped," said he, in his usual quick manner; "accidents

will happen."

Upon the following morning my worst fears were realised; Elmore was

dead lame; and when I reported this to his Grace, his only answer was,

"I cannot afford to run the chance of losing my best horses; so, in

future, you shall have the brown horse and the chestnut mare, and if

you knock them up you must mount yourself."

In a previous chapter I have referred to a carriage accident that

occurred to Wellington when I was with him; and it is somewhat

strange that I should again be by his side, and in a great measure

the cause of a second misfortune.

I own myself that I regret cabriolets are no longer the fashion.

For a man that can afford to keep a number of carriages, a victoria

and brougham are all very well; but the former is only available in

fine weather, whereas a cabriolet with a projecting head could defy

most showers of rain. A well-appointed cabriolet was a comfortable

and gentleman-like conveyance, and, for the bachelor, did the duty

of a close carriage at half the expense. A perfect cabriolet horse,

however, costs money, and the equipage must be well turned out. A

seedy-looking cabriolet and horse to match are abominations not to

be endured.

I have said that a cabriolet should be well "got up;" and in order

to do this the owner must possess two horses--one for daylight, and

another for night work; a clever "screw" will answer for the latter

purpose--one, however, that can go the pace, although he can never

show until the gas is lit. No one who values a good horse would dream

of allowing him to stand exposed to chilly blasts at the opera, the

theatre, or his club.

At no period were carriages better constructed or more neatly turned

out than they are in the present day, both as regards vehicles,

harness, and horses. At the same time, without being hypercritical,

I think some changes might be made for the better. Let me instance

the following:--A coachman's curly wig seems quite out of character

when we consider the costume of the day, and it certainly might be

dispensed with. Again, a light victoria or brougham are often to be

seen with a pair of horses to each, whereas one fine stepper would

be preferable; then (happily only in a few-instances) the case

is reversed, and a carriage, open or shut, meant for two horses,

has only one. Again in the present day, with some exceptions,

noblemen and gentlemen do not keep to their old family colours; and

occasionally we see a brougham black picked out with blue, and a

chariot of quite a different colour. Nothing looked better than the

Russell brown and blue, the Rutland and Sefton light yellow, the

Hamilton red, the Foley reddish brown, the Harrington dark brown, the

Anglesey dark yellow, more especially when the carriages were drawn

by splendid horses.

CHAPTER XVI.

HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES--DRIVES TO VALENCIENNES WITH FREDERICK

YATES--MEET A DANCING BEAR--RESULT--WHEEL CARRIAGES IN

TOWNS--STATE OF THE PUBLIC STREETS--GAY'S DESCRIPTION OF

THEM--HACKNEY COACHES--TAYLOR, THE WATER POET--ROBBERIES IN

LONDON--FIRST INTRODUCTION OF OMNIBUSES.

CHAPTER XVI.

In addition to the splendid turns-out of the members of the Coaching

and Four-in-Hand Club, every cavalry regiment and many infantry corps

possess a regimental "drag," which is always well horsed and usually

well driven. During the time I served in the army such a thing was

unknown, and the only opportunities officers had of driving were when

travelling by stage-coach, or when a tandem was improvised in the

barrack-yard.

Many a hairbreadth escape have I had from one of these breakneck

vehicles. When at a private tutor's at Donnington, I and a young

companion--alas! now no more--hired a tandem from Botham, of the

"Pelican," Newbury, to take us to Reading. Safely should we have

arrived there but for a drove of oxen which met us on our way. The

result was the accident related in a previous chapter, and my ankle

was dislocated.

My next attempt was when I was on the Staff of the Duke of

Wellington, at Cambrai. Frederick Yates, then in the Commissariat

Department, afterwards lessee of the Adelphi Theatre, was anxious,

like myself, to visit an amateur performance by the officers

stationed at Valenciennes; and it was arranged that we should drive

over in my dennet, to which he was to add a leader.

All went well until we approached the plains of Denain, when a man

leading a dancing bear so frightened our steeds that they set off at

a gallop, overturning us in a dry ditch. Unfortunately for me, the

handle of my sword, which I had stowed away in front of the apron,

came in contact with my body and broke a rib; so, instead of enjoying

my visit, I was laid up for a week at a not over-comfortable hotel.

This was my second and last appearance in a tandem, and I strongly

recommend those who value their limbs never to trust themselves to

such a conveyance. In earlier days I have driven four horses many

hundred miles on the road and through the crowded streets of the

metropolis, and never once came to grief.

Let me now refer to the use of wheel carriages in towns, which is

not of very ancient date among the English people. During the reign

of James I. the drivers of both public and private carriages had no

other accommodation than a bar, or driver's chair, placed very low

behind the horses; in the following reign they rode postilion fashion.

After the Restoration they appeared with whip and spurs, and towards

the end of the century mounted a coachman's box. This box, covered

with a hammer-cloth, was in reality a box, and within it, or in a

leather pouch attached to it, were tools for mending broken wheels

or shivered panels, in the event of accidents occurring, which

were by no means uncommon; in consequence, first, of the defective

construction of the vehicles, which, according to Davenant, were

"uneasily hung, and so narrow that he took them for sedans on

wheels;" in the second place, from the clumsy driving of carmen in

the crowded thoroughfares; and, lastly and principally, from the

nature of the streets themselves, full of all the worst perils a

coachman could have to encounter. The state of the street ways,

where the ruts lay half a yard deep, did not admit of rapid driving,

and we read, even in the days of Charles II., of the Royal coach

being upset twice in getting from the City to Westminster.

At this date, and for some generations after, the custom was, when

ladies traversed the city in carriages, for the gentlemen gallants

to accompany them on horseback, riding in advance, or on each side.

These formed a body-guard, not at all unnecessary or superfluous,

looking to the swarms of "scourers," "knights of the road," and

"goshawks" who made free warren of London streets and scrupled at no

act of violence. The picture Gay has left us of the street ways in

the beginning of the eighteenth century will form some estimate of

what they were at an earlier period:--

"Where a dim gleam the paly lantern throws,

O'er the mid pavement heapy rubbish grows,

Or arched vaults their gaping jaws extend,

Or the dark caves to common shores descend;

Oft by the winds, extinct the signal dies,

Or smothered in the glimmering socket lies.

Ere night has half rolled round her ebon throne

In the wide gulf, the shatter'd coach o'erthrown

Sinks with the snorting steeds; the reins are broke,

And from the crackling axle flies the spoke."

The first hirable vehicles in London were the hackney-coaches,

so called not from the village of Hackney, as commonly supposed,

but from the old word "to hack," or let on hire. The first

hackney-coaches were stout-built vehicles, fitted for the rough roads

of the time; they made their appearance originally in 1625, and were

kept at certain inns, where they had to be sent for when wanted, and

these were only at this time twenty in number.

In a proclamation issued by Charles I., in 1635, the King

prohibited the general and promiscuous use of hackney-coaches in

London, Westminster, and their suburbs, as being "not only a great

disturbance to His Majesty, his dearest consort the Queen, the

nobility, and others of place and degree, but the streets were so

pestered and the pavements broken up that the common passage was

thereby hindered." It was therefore commanded that "no hired coaches

should be used in London except to travel three miles out of the

same."

Two years after the foregoing prohibition the King granted a licence

for fifty hackney-coachmen in and about London and Westminster, to

keep twelve horses each. This licence was extended to other cities

and towns. In course of time the increase of street carriages called

forth the indignation of Taylor the water-poet. What would that

renowned king of scullers, whose wonted boast was that he had often

ferried Shakspeare from Whitehall to Paris Garden, and Ben Jonson

from Bankside to the Rose and Hope playhouses, have said had he

lived in the present days? Probably the poor water rhymer would have

drowned himself in his own element, or at least would have drowned

his cares in a more spirited mixture. What a fearful picture did he

draw of the calamity that assailed his trade!

"We poor watermen have not the least cause to complain against any

conveyance that belongs to persons of worth or quality, but only

against the caterpillar swarm of hirelings. They have undone my poor

trade, whereof I am a member. This swarm of trade spoilers, like

grasshoppers or caterpillars of Egypt, have so overrun the land that

we can get no living on the water; for every day, if the Court be at

Whitehall, they do rob us of our livings, and carry five hundred and

sixty fares daily from us. I pray you but note the streets and the

chambers or lodgings in Fleet Street or the Strand, how they are

pestered with coaches, especially after a masque or play at Court,

where even the very earth shakes and trembles, the casements shatter,

totter, patter, and clatter, and such a confused noise is made that

a man can neither sleep, speak, hear, write, nor eat his dinner or

supper quiet for them; besides, their tumbling din, like counterfeit

thunder, doth sour wine, beer, and ale, almost abominally, to the

impairing of their healths that drink it, and the making of many a

victualler's trade fallen."

In a publication entitled "The Thief," Taylor writes:--

"Carroches, coaches, jades, and Flanders mares,

Do rob us of our shares, our wants, our fares;

Against the ground we stand, and knock our heels

Whilst all our profit runs away on wheels."

The London shopkeepers, too, bitterly complained.

"Formerly," they said, "when ladies and gentlemen walked in the

streets there was a chance of obtaining customers to inspect and

purchase our commodities; but now they whisk past in the coaches

before our apprentices have time to cry out 'What d'ye lack?'"

Taylor above referred to, does not appear to have entertained a very

high opinion of the tradesmen of his day, for he writes:--

"When Queen Elizabeth came to the crowne,

A coach in England then was scarcely knowne.

Then 'twas as rare to see one as to spye

A tradesman that had never told a lie."

Hackney-coaches were admitted into Hyde Park before the year 1694,

but were expelled at that period, through the singular circumstance

of some persons of distinction having been insulted by several women

in masks; riding there in that description of vehicle.

In 1728, the robberies were so frequent in the streets of London,

Westminster, and parts adjacent, that Lord Townshend issued a notice

offering a reward of £40 "for each felon convict returned from

transportation before the expiration of the term for which he or

she was transported, who shall, by the means of such discovery, be

brought to condign punishment." It appears by the above, that the

murders, beatings, and robberies were perpetrated in a great degree

by returned convicts, Hackney-coaches being their special mark, as

the following paragraph which appeared in the "Postman" of the 19th

of October, 1728, will prove:--

"The persons authorised by Government to employ men to drive

hackney-coaches, have made great complaints for want of trade,

occasioned by the increase of street robbers; so that people,

especially in an evening, choose rather to walk than to ride in

a coach, on account that they are in a readier posture to defend

themselves, or call out for help if attacked. Meantime, it is

apparent that, whereas a figure for driving of an hackney-coach used

lately to be sold for about £60, besides paying the usual duties

to the Commissioners for licensing, they are at this time, for the

reasons aforesaid, sold for £3 per figure goodwill."

The conveyance now known as the omnibus was borrowed from our

Continental neighbours, for it was in existence in France two

centuries ago. Its rise and progress may not prove uninteresting.

Carriages on hire had long been established in Paris, and were let

out by the day or hour from the sign of St. Fiacre.

In 1662 a Royal decree of Louis XIV. authorised the establishment of

a _carrosse à cinq sous_, got by a company, with the Duke de Rohan

and two other noblemen at the head of it. The decree stated that

these conveyances, of which there were originally seven, built to

carry eight persons, should run at fixed hours, full or empty, to and

from the extreme parts of Paris; the object being to convey those who

could not afford to hire carriages.

The public inauguration of the new vehicles took place on the 18th of

March, 1662, and was attended with much state. Three of the coaches

started from the Porte St. Antoine, and four from the Luxembourg.

Previous to their setting out, the principal legal functionary

addressed the drivers, pointing out to them their duties to the

public. After this harangue, the procession started, escorted by

cavalry, the infantry lined the streets to keep them clear.

Writers disagree as to the reception these conveyances met with.

Sauval, in his Antiquities of Paris, affirms that the populace hooted

the drivers and broke the windows of the carriages with stones;

while, on the other hand, Madame Perrier, sister to Pascal, describes

the joy with which these "twopenny-halfpenny busses" were received.

It appears, too, that the King took a trip in one at St. Germain,

and a _pièce de circonstance_ was got up at the Théâtre Marais,

entitled "L'Intrigue des Carrosses à Cinq Sous." Strange to say, when

the fashionable Parisians ceased to patronise the omnibus, it went

completely out of favour, as the poorer class declined to travel in

it. Hence the company failed.

In 1827 a society entitled "Entreprise Générale des Omnibus" again

introduced the system, which was thus alluded to in the newspapers of

1829:--

"The omnibus is a long coach, carrying fifteen or eighteen people,

all inside. Of these carriages there were about half-a-dozen some

months ago, and they have been augmented since; their profits

are said to have repaid the outlay within the first year; the

proprietors, among whom is M. Lafitte, the banker, are making a large

revenue out of Parisian sous, and speculation is still alive."

During the struggle of the three days in July, 1830, the accidental

upsetting of one of these vehicles suggested an idea that barricades

could be formed out of a number of them; and this plan was tried and

followed out.

Shortly after the introduction of the omnibus in Paris, a

public-spirited individual started two of these carriages in London,

which ran from the Bank of England to the Yorkshire Stingo, in the

New-road, and were called "Shillibeers," after the introducer. Each

of these vehicles carried twenty-two passengers inside, with only the

driver and conductor outside; each omnibus was drawn by three horses,

abreast, and the fare was one shilling for the whole distance, and

sixpence for half. Since that time the fares have been considerably

lowered, and outside passengers are taken.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN ADVENTURE WITH BALL HUGHES, COMMONLY CALLED "THE

GOLDEN BALL"--A SENSATION AT DARTFORD--A RELIC OF THE

COMMUNE--RAILWAYS--PIONEERS OF THE RAIL--INTRODUCTION OF

STEAM-CARRIAGES ON ROADS--SEDAN CHAIRS--PADDY'S PRACTICAL

JOKE--FEUDS BETWEEN CHAIRMEN AND HACKNEY-COACHMEN.

CHAPTER XVII.

An adventure which occurred to me some fifty years ago may not here

be out of place. I was dining one day with Ball Hughes, commonly,

from his wealth, called "The Golden Ball," when the conversation

turned upon Paris.

"What say you to going there?" he asked.

"I should like it much," I replied.

"Send for Guy," continued he, addressing the butler; "and help

yourself to claret, we shall not have much time to spare."

Before I could express my surprise, Guy, the coachman, entered the

room.

"Have the travelling-chariot with the four bays round in

half-an-hour, and send the seats and imperial into my room to be

packed. By the way," he proceeded, turning to me, "you will want

some one to go and tell your servant to bring your clothes, we shall

return in a week."

"Are you in earnest?" I inquired, somewhat taken aback at this hasty

movement.

"Quite," he answered; "pass the bottle; and, John, take the small

front imperial to Lord William's lodgings in Pall Mall, tell his

servant to pack it up, and we will call for it on our way."

In half-an-hour the carriage was at the door; we took our seats, the

faithful valet ascended the rumble, and the order was given,

"Make the best of your way to Dartford, call as you go by at No. 4,

Pall Mall."

It was a lovely evening in July, and despite of having all the

windows down we felt greatly oppressed with heat.

"What say you to riding?" inquired my companion; "pull up, boys."

"I am not in trim for riding," I replied, "with these thin white

trousers, shoes, and silk stockings; my legs will be awfully chafed."

"Never mind, my good fellow, we will go as slow as you please, and

you shall have your choice, short or long traces."

The postilions had alighted, and, having borrowed their whips, we

exchanged places, and in less time than I can describe it the Golden

Ball was mounted on a high-stepping thoroughbred leader, while I was

piloting two as handsome wheelers as ever trotted their twelve miles

an hour.

No event worthy of record occurred upon the road. It is true that the

pole occasionally reminded my brother postilion that the traces were

slack, that we grazed a carrier's cart upon entering Deptford, that

we frightened an itinerant vendor of apples and pears as we dashed

over Blackheath, and, finally, that we upset a one-horse chaise

standing in the High Street of the town identified with Pigou and

gunpowder.

As we drove up to the door of the "Bull Inn" we found, to our great

horror, a crowd assembled in front of it.

"Pull up!" I bellowed at the top of my voice.

"I can't," responded my friend.

"Then turn in down the yard. Take a good sweep, or we shall upset the

carriage."

We did turn in with no greater damage than carrying away a wooden

post, breaking a lamp, rubbing a piece of skin off the near leader,

and tearing his rider's Hessian boot.

A cheer was then heard from the assembled crowd. We jumped off

our horses, gave them up to the two postilions, who had hastily

descended from the carriage, and made our way to the entrance, where

the landlord, landlady, waiter, and ostler stood, looking as much

astonished as the inhabitants of Edmonton did when Johnny Gilpin made

his appearance in that town. Unfortunately Cowper was not with us to

immortalise our adventure.

"Can we have four horses immediately?" asked Ball Hughes, in his

blandest manner.

"The packet starts early for Calais."

"First and second turn out!" shouted the ostler, while mine host

could scarcely repress a smile.

An _éclaircissement_ took place when it appeared that Queen

Caroline, the ill-fated wife of the Fourth George, had been expected;

that some Dartford Paul Pry had caught a view of the gold embroidered

velvet jackets and caps of the postilions, and had given the signal

for the cheers, mistaking the inmates of the carriage for at least

Lord Hood in his Chamberlain's dress, Sir Matthew Wood in his

Aldermanic gown, or Her Majesty herself decked out in Royal attire.

Finding we could not reach Dover in time for the boat to Calais we

stopped for the night at the "Rose," Sittingbourne.

I have already referred to the French omnibus; and it may not be

here out of place to record an instance of the light-heartedness of

our Continental neighbours, who instead of erasing a most painful

episode in the history of their country from their minds, appear to

perpetuate it, as will be seen by the following statement extracted

from one of their own journals:--

"The Parisian Omnibus Company has preserved a curious relic of the

late Commune in the shape of an omnibus which the Communists used for

one of their barricades, and which was riddled through the street

fights between the Versailles troops and the insurgents by as many

as eight hundred shots or bomb-shell splinters. The coachman's box is

broken, and only one wheel hangs on to the vehicle."

I have now given the _agrémens_ and _désagrémens_ of coaching, and

have come to the conclusion that all unprejudiced persons would

prefer the rail to the road, especially those to whom time and money

are objects. A man may now breakfast in London and dine in Dublin,

and this journey can be performed at (as compared with former

charges) a very considerable reduction.

Pullman's cars, now confined to the Midland, and partly to the

Brighton line, will soon become universal. Then a night journey will

be free from exertion, and after a good night's rest the traveller

will find himself some hundred miles from the place of departure.

Those, too, who indulge in "sublime tobacco," whether in the shape of

a meerschaum, brier, clay pipe, a mild Havannah cigar, or a Latakia

cigarette, can smoke in a covered carriage, instead as of old on the

outside of a mail coach, amidst a pelting, pitiless storm. However,

as tastes differ, there will always be a certain number of old

stagers who, denouncing steam, will talk with rapture of the palmy

days of the road, and of their delight when they went "coaching, a

long time ago."

Railways were originally formed altogether of timber, and it was not

until 1767 that the first experiment was tried, and that upon a very

small scale, to determine the advantage of substituting iron for the

less durable material. Nor does it appear that this experiment was

successful, or followed by any practical result, for in 1797 Mr. Carr

claimed to be considered the inventor of cast-iron rails.

The railways which were constructed up to the beginning of 1800 were

all private undertakings, and each was confined to the use of the

establishment--generally a colliery--in which it was employed. The

public railways of the United Kingdom are strictly creations of the

present century. Here I may remark that as early as the year 1216 the

idea of applying the power of steam to locomotion first suggested

itself. Roger Bacon, a Franciscan friar, who flourished during the

reign of Henry III., foretold that ships would some day move without

sails, and carriages without horses; and though his scientific

researches were not duly appreciated in his own times, he may fairly

take rank with the greatest pioneers of modern discovery.

In the days of Charles II., Edward Somerset, Earl of Glamorgan

and Marquis of Worcester, invented and constructed the first

steam-engine. His title to this honour has been the subject of

dispute, some historians attributing to him a greater share of merit

than there was sufficient evidence to warrant, while others deprive

him of even that honour to which he possesses an indefeasible claim.

Possessing inventive genius of the highest order, he was considered a

mad enthusiast, because his speculations were advanced so far before

the age in which he lived, and he has been set down as a quack and

impostor by men incapable of comprehending the nature or appreciating

the value of his creations.

The slow march of knowledge and of time has at last revealed the

worth and established the character of an illustrious and unfortunate

man of genius, who only lived to complete his mighty design and

carry it happily into effect. Macaulay thus refers to the Marquis of

Worcester:--

"The Marquis had observed the expansive power of moisture rarefied

by heat. After many experiments, he had succeeded in constructing

a rude steam-engine, which he called a fire-waterwork, and which

he pronounced to be an admirable and most forcible instrument of

propulsion."

But the Marquis was suspected to be a madman, and known to be a

Papist, his inventions therefore found no favourable reception. His

fire-waterwork might, perhaps, furnish matter for conversation at a

meeting of the Royal Society, but was not applied to any practical

purpose.

The next engine was invented by Captain Savery, in 1698, for the

purpose of raising water by the help of fire. Newcomen came next,

followed by James Watt.

And here I must pay a passing tribute to the inventive genius and

wonderful discoveries of James Watt, to whom, perhaps, more than to

any other man, the world is indebted for the beneficial results which

have flown from the development of steam power.

Some six hundred years after Roger Bacon's prophecy, another prophet

arose. In 1804, so writes a popular author, "George Stephenson

was a poor labourer, his son Robert lying in his cradle; then the

stage-coach dragged along its weary course at about five miles an

hour, and a letter posted in London would reach Edinburgh _perhaps_

in a week. In 1824 the father said to the son:--

"I tell you what I think, my lad. You will live to see the day,

though I may not, when railroads will supersede all other modes of

conveyance; when mail coaches will go by railway, and railways become

the great highway for the King and his subjects. The time is coming

when it will be cheaper for a working man to travel by railway than

to walk on foot."

A bold, a daring, but a great social and patriotic prediction: both

father and son lived to see it fulfilled. These wonderful changes

have been brought about through the perseverance of a quintuple

alliance--the Stephensons, Brunels, and Locke--of each of whom it

may be said, if you seek his monument, "Look not at the place of his

birth, his abode, or his death, but survey his works throughout the

greater part of the habitable globe."

In 1824 the first locomotive constructed by George Stephenson

travelled at the rate of six miles an hour; in 1829 the "Rocket"

travelled at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and obtained

the prize of five hundred pounds offered by the directors of the

Liverpool and Manchester Railway Company for the best locomotive.

In 1834 the "Firefly" attained a speed of twenty miles an hour; and

at the present moment locomotives have increased their speed to over

sixty miles an hour. Merciless ridicule attended the introduction

of railway travelling; and in reference to a proposed line between

London and Woolwich, a writer in the "Quarterly Review" not only

backed "Old Father Thames" against it for any sum, but assured his

readers that the people of Woolwich "would as soon suffer themselves

to be fired off upon one of Congreve's ricochet rockets as trust

themselves to the mercy of such a machine--a high-pressure engine,

and going at the rate of eighteen miles an hour."

The reviewer adds that he trusts Parliament will limit the speed of

railways to eight or nine miles an hour, which is as great as can be

ventured upon with safety. Despite this prediction, the rail, as we

all know, has proved a perfect success.

When railways were first proposed, in order to prove to Parliament

that they would pay, persons called "traffic takers" were placed at

the entrance of large towns to note down the traffic in and out of

the town. When the Brighton and South Coast line was before the House

of Commons, and evidence was given as to the existing traffic, the

counsel for the company suggested that they might be allowed fairly

to say that this would be doubled, when increased means of travelling

were afforded. This seems ludicrous now, when probably one train of

passengers and one of goods carries considerably more than the above

estimate.

Many ineffectual attempts have been made to introduce steam-carriages

on the roads, and in 1822 Mr. (afterwards Sir) Goldsworthy

Gurney--inventor of the steam-jet, emphatically called by engineers

"the life and soul of locomotion"--constructed a carriage for that

purpose. To show that it was capable of ascending and descending

hills, of maintaining a uniformity of speed over long distances and

on different kinds of roads, a journey was undertaken from Hounslow

Barracks to Bath and back. On arriving at Melksham, where a fair

was being held, the people made an attack upon the steam-carriage,

wounding the stoker and the engineer severely on their heads from a

volley of stones. The return journey was more satisfactory, as the

whole distance (eighty-four miles), stoppages for fire and water

included, was travelled over in nine hours and twenty minutes, the

carriage at one time increasing its speed to twenty miles an hour.

The Duke of Wellington and his staff met the carriage at Hounslow

Barracks, and were drawn in his Grace's barouche by the steam-engine

into the town.

From February to June, 1831, steam-carriages ran between Gloucester

and Cheltenham regularly four times a day, during which time they

carried nearly three thousand persons and travelled nearly four

thousand miles, without a single accident. Every obstacle, however,

was thrown in the way of this new invention; large heaps of stones

were laid across the road eighteen inches deep, under the pretence of

repairing the highway; and on an Act of Parliament being passed which

imposed prohibitory tolls on turnpike trusts, the steam-carriage was

driven off the road.

On the journey to Bath above referred to, the toll for the

steam-carriage was six guineas each time of passing. About this

period Colonel Sir James Viney patronised a Mr. Pocock and the

making of kites for the purpose of drawing a carriage, but these

paper horses were ungovernable, particularly in a storm, and Sir John

gave them up for a couple of ponies, which, in truth, were almost as

wayward.

One conveyance alone remains to which I have not referred--the sedan

chair, named after the town of Sedan, in France. In early days I

well remember a very gorgeous specimen of the above, emblazoned

with the family arms, which used to convey my mother to evening

parties; and as late as the year 1834 I have often, at Leamington,

Edinburgh, and Bath, made use of a sedan chair to take me to dinner.

One advantage this conveyance had over a carriage was that, upon a

snowy or rainy night, you could enter it under cover and get out

of it in your Amphitryon's hall. Occasionally it was used by young

spendthrifts against whom writs were out, as it enabled them to avoid

the sheriff's officers. It was not always, however, a safe refuge, as

Hogarth, in one of his prints, represents a tipstaff seizing hold of

some debtor he was in search of.

Early in the present century a very clever caricature appeared,

in which an Irishman was seen wending his way through dirt and

slush, his legs and feet obtruding from a sedan chair--some waggish

practical joker (the Theodore Hook of that day) having removed the

bottom of it. Two stout chairmen, aware of the trick that had been

played upon their inside passenger, are selecting the dirtiest

streets, or most flinty part of the road, while the unfortunate

Emeralder exclaims:

"Bedad! if it was not for the honour of the thing, I would as lief

walk."

The costume of the chairmen at Bath was very peculiar: they wore

long, light-blue coats highly ornamented with buttons about the size

of a crown piece, the skirts of which reached down to their ankles;

short "inexpressibles," white cotton stockings, shoes with buckles,

and a huge cocked hat bound with gold lace. They were fine, powerful

men, with calves to their legs which would have made the fortune of

any fashionable footman. When sedan-chairs were first introduced, a

great feud arose between the chairmen and the hackney-coachmen, which

led to many serious disturbances. The contest was carried on with the

greatest bitterness; and the hatred it engendered was equal to that

of the Montagues and Capulets, the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, the

Red and White Roses; eventually, through the interference of the law,

peace was restored.

Wilson thus refers to the sedan-chair named after Sedan on the

Meuse. In his Life of James I., this passage, in speaking of the

Earl of Northumberland, occurs: "The stout old Earl, when he was got

loose (he had been imprisoned), hearing that the great favourite,

Buckingham, was drawn about with a coach and six horses (which was

wondered at then as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering

pride), thought, if Buckingham had six, he might very well have eight

in his coach; with which he rode through the city of London to Bath,

to the vulgar talk and admiration; and, recovering his health there,

he lived long after at Petworth in Sussex; bating this over-topping

humour, which shewed it rather an affected fit than a distemper.

"Nor did this addition of two horses, by Buckingham, grow higher than

a little murmur. For in the late Queen's time (Elizabeth), there were

no coaches, and the First Lord had but two horses; the rest crept in

by degrees, as men at first ventured to sea. And every new thing the

people disaffect, they stumble at; sometimes at the action of the

parties, which rises like a little cloud, but soon vanishes.

"So after, when Buckingham came to be carried in a chair upon men's

shoulders, the clamour and noise of it was so extravagant that the

people would rail on him in the streets, loathing that men should

be brought to as servile a condition as horses; so irksome is every

little new impression that breaks an old custom, and rubs and grates

against the public humour; but when time had made those chairs

common, every minion used them; so that that which gave at first so

much scandal was the means to convey those privately to such places,

where they might give much more. Just like long hair, at one time

described as abominable--another time approved of as beautiful."

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.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Few of my readers will remember the old hackney-coaches, and

fortunate are they who live at a period when they can be driven about

the metropolis and throughout all the principal towns in hansom cabs

and "four-wheelers." The old hackney-coach was usually a broken-down,

rickety vehicle, that had evidently seen better days; it usually bore

the arms and crest of some noble family; the lining, torn and faded,

showed signs of former grandeur, as did the harness, now patched and

tied together with string. The horses looked more fit to furnish a

meal for a pack of hungry foxhounds than to go through their daily

work. The coachman, becaped and bebooted, was a long time descending

from and ascending his box, and when seated there it required a

large amount of "ge-upping" and "go-alonging," with the additional

aid of whipping, to get his half-starved, broken-down animals into a

trot.

What a contrast to the Hansom of the present day, which, generally

speaking, is clean, admirably horsed, and well driven, so much so

that the driver of a well-appointed two-wheeler, like Tom Tug, in

"The Waterman," "is never in want of a _fare_!" Would that I could

say the same of the four-wheeler! There are some exceptions; but the

majority savour too much of the old hackney-coach to merit a eulogium.

Practical jokes have often been played by persons representing

highwaymen for the time being; a most memorable one was practised by

the celebrated John Mytton, of Halston.

Upon one occasion, a neighbouring clergyman was invited to dine at

the Squire's, as Mytton was called, and in the course of the evening,

the conversation turned upon the knights of the road. Whether this

casual topic gave the idea to the arch-hoaxer, or that the affair

was premeditated, I know not, but it was shortly carried out. After

a quiet rubber of whist, the Reverend gentleman's carriage was

announced, and he took his departure.

He had not proceeded a hundred yards beyond the lodge-gate, when all

of a sudden the carriage stopped, and a man with a black crape over

his face presented a pistol, exclaiming,

"Your money or your life," his companion, equally disguised, catching

hold of the horses.

Unarmed, and alone, resistance was in vain, he, therefore, gave his

purse to the marauder.

"This won't do," said the man. "I must have your watch."

"Spare that," beseechingly implored the clergyman. "It is of little

value to anyone but myself, and was the gift of a beloved mother."

"No time for sentiment," continued the other, "you must hand it out,"

at the same time cocking the pistol.

The valued gift now changed hands, and the Reverend gentleman was

allowed to proceed to his home in safety.

Early the next morning he applied to a magistrate for assistance,

and proceeded to Halston to inform Mytton of the disgraceful state

of the country, when a man could be robbed within a few yards of his

lodge.

"I'll send for the constable," said Mytton, "a reward shall be

offered, and no exertion shall be wanting on my part to trace the

scoundrel and get your property restored."

The clergyman was brimming over with gratitude, when the Squire

continued.

"Come and dine here to-morrow, and I'll send an escort home with you.

My keeper and a watcher will be more than a match for any two rascals

that infest the road."

The invitation was accepted, and in the meantime every exertion was

made by the magistrate to discover the offenders. During dinner, the

conversation naturally turned upon the bare-faced robbery.

"I did not mind the fellows taking my money," said the victim.

"Albeit I could not well afford to lose it, but what I felt deeply

was the loss of my watch. I would give any sum in my power to recover

it."

At that moment the second course was put on the table, for at the

time I write of _dîners à la Russe_ were unknown, and a large dish

with a cover over it was placed before the host.

"I wish," said Mytton, addressing his clerical friend, "you would

kindly carve the pheasants. I sprained my wrist out hunting last

week, and if I attempt the job, it will be a case of 'mangling done

here.'"

The dish was removed and placed before the clergyman, and upon

the cover being taken off, great was the delight and surprise of

the victim to find his purse and watch occupying the place of the

far-famed bird of Colchis.

An angry look at the perpetrator of this practical joke was soon

transformed into a smile, for the delight of recovering the watch

made him ample compensation for the anxiety of mind he had suffered.

A hoax similar in some degree was practised in France on the Baron de

Bezenval.

This well-known nobleman was in 1788 on a visit at the house of M.

de Bercheni, beyond La Ferté-sous-Jouare, an estate now belonging to

the family of Castellane. It was the latter end of Autumn. Some bold

poachers already disturbed the sport. The wind blew violently, and

strewed the ground with leaves; the mornings were misty, the nights

long, gloomy, and cold; but gloom never approached the place that the

Baron inhabited. The _après-dîner_ had been excessively merry, and

all the company had gradually retired. M. de Bezenval had announced

his departure, and being almost the only guest in the room, took

leave of the mistress of the house.

"I hope to see you again soon," said he.

"I hope so too," replied the lady with courtesy.

He took his departure, and soon fell asleep in his post-chaise,

wrapped up in thick fur. He was suddenly roused from his slumbers by

a violent shaking. The postilion had been knocked off his horse, a

number of armed men surrounded the vehicle, and their leader, whose

face was blackened, seizing the Baron, presented a pistol to his

breast.

"Sir," said the Baron, "your men do not know how to behave

themselves--they should at least have given me time to draw my

hunting-knife."

Without favouring him with a reply, they stripped him--his cane,

rings, snuff-boxes of lapis-lazuli, and his two watches and chains

decked with gems were wrested from him.

"Are you content?" cried Bezenval.

"No," replied they, "the chaise is ours, as all the rest; get out of

it."

He alighted, and the brigands dispersed, one only mounting one of the

horses, and driving off at a gallop.

"Valentine, what is to be done?" said the Baron to his servant.

"I really do not know," replied the latter; "perhaps the wisest step

is to go back to the château."

Thither they turned, and two hours of most fatiguing walking brought

them to it. The gates were open, there were no servants in the

courts, and none in the ante-rooms. He entered the drawing-room, and

not a soul was in it. But what did his eyes first fall upon? His two

watches and their chains were hanging to the chimney-piece! Whilst he

was gazing on them, immense shouts of laughter arose, and the bandits

of quality crowded into the room in their several disguises. Such was

the method devised to bring back the agreeable Baron de Bezenval.

Having described coaching in England, it may not be uninteresting to

give a brief notice of French coaching. It is now two hundred years

ago that La Fontaine wrote the following lines, which began his fable

"La Coche et la Mouche:--"

"Dans un chemin, montant, sablonneux, malaisé,

Et de tous les côtés au soleil exposé,

Six forts chevaux tiroient une coche."

At that time public and private vehicles had not yet undergone any

very notable improvements. When an inhabitant of Bordeaux or Maçon

took his departure for Paris he made his will, leaving among other

things "son corps à la diligence."

Eighty years previous, in the middle of the sixteenth century,

private vehicles were not very numerous, if we judge by the

predicament in which Henry IV., King of France and Navarre, found

himself when he wrote to Sully, "Je n'ai pas pu aller vous voir hier,

ma femme ayant pris ma coche." That _coche_ which we in England

still call coach, and the driver of which has obtained the name of

coacher--coachman was either _coche de terre_ or a _coche d'eau_,

both conveying travellers and goods. The coche d'Auxerre alone

survived in France until our days. The steamboats have sunk it,

in despite of its heroic resistance. It was only in the first year

of the seventeenth century that _coches_ or _voitures_, were first

ornamented, and provided with leather braces; they then assumed the

generic name of _carrosses_, derived from _char_ and _charrette_.

It would occupy too much space to write a history of their

transformations and successive improvements, and to follow step by

step the aristocratic succession of the carrosse, calêche, berline,

landau, dormeuse, char-à-banc, demi-fortune, vis-à-vis, coupé, not

omitting the cabriolet, phaeton, boguey, tilbury, kibitka, britzska,

and other vehicles of the young fashion of all times. The public

vehicles have made slower progress. The _diligences_ long continued

worthy of their grandfathers the _coches_, and were very unworthy of

their new name.

At the beginning of the present century, in which everything now

moves on so rapidly, two days and a night were still required to

pass from Paris to Orleans. Travellers slept on the road at Etampes

or Pithiviers, a spot rendered immortal by Perlet's admirable

personification in "Le Comédien d'Etampes;" hotel living, with its

good fare and bad beds, being preferred to highroad living, with

its obligato accompaniment of broken down cattle, rickety coaches,

and highwaymen armed to the teeth. The diligences gave birth to the

messageries, chaises, chaises-de-poste, and at a later period to the

malle-postes, which, however, did not prevent certain provinces from

enjoying a sort of progeniture of ancient coches, under the various

names of voiturines, guimbardes, carrioles, and other instruments of

torture, which enabled the traveller to accomplish easily, as the

saying went, "twenty leagues in fifteen days."

After that the real _diligences_, the real _messageries_, attained

a degree of comfort for which the public were most grateful. To

frequent changes and improvement of the horses were added the comfort

of the vehicle; and last, not least, the lowness of the prices. The

_malle-postes_, destined for the more rapid conveyance of letters,

and at the same time of travellers eager to get over their journey

quickly--thanks to the attention of the administration--were rendered

admirably adapted to the public service, the primary object of their

establishment, and to the private service of those who wished for

comfort in their travels.

The _caisse_ containing the despatches, the high station occupied

behind by the courrier-conducteur of the mail, the _caisse_ reserved

for travellers, the shape and size of which varied according to the

seasons, and the comfortable seat for the passengers, deserved every

praise. What could a traveller in those days, when steam was not

in prospective existence, desire more than to travel from Paris to

Bayonne, two hundred leagues, in fifty-six hours? The humbler history

of the _fiacre_ also deserves to have a place here. The _carrosse_

gave birth to the _fiacre_ in the seventeenth century. That was the

first coach devoted to public use.

I have already said that the head-quarters of these vehicles were

in Rue St. Antoine, Paris, and were called "carrosses à cinq sous,"

five sous being the price for the hour. The _fiacres_ long had a bad

name, and not undeservedly so. Who does not remember, even in our

days, the wretched equipages that stood on the rank? Who has not had,

at least once in his life, a quarrel with the drivers, often more

vicious than their cattle? The cabriolets for town and country, and

the _coucous_, were scarcely superior in any respect, as many have

wofully experienced.

Times, however, have altered, and, during the last few years

incredible improvements have taken place, not only in the vehicles,

but also in the horses and their drivers. Transformations almost as

wonderful as that of Cinderella's fairy carriage have been effected.

The carriages are better constructed and suspended, and are arranged

more comfortably inside. The creation, too, of one-horse coupés

(broughams) has successfully provided for the wants of the public,

and at the present time a vast number of new companies, under various

names, have vied in skill and conferred upon the people vehicles

of tasteful shapes, horses in good condition, totally unlike the

_rosses_ of former days, harness neat, drivers in uniform liveries,

and above all, civil and attentive.

To complete this sketch, let me pay a parting tribute to the Parisian

omnibus, that accommodating carriage which takes you up at all

hours, at every moment, in the street or at your door, and carries

you without any delay to any street or door you wish to alight

at--sociable vehicles which, for the trifling sum of thirty centimes,

convey you two leagues from the Barrière de l'Etoile to that of the

Trône, and from the Madelaine to the Place de la Bastille.

Would that I had space to review all the varieties of that obliging

vehicle, which, it is said, appeared at Nantes, before it invaded the

streets, quays, and boulevards of the capital! Were I to enumerate

the "Hirondelles," "Favorites," "Dames Françaises," "Parisiennes,"

"Beauvaises," "Orléannaises," &c., and point out all their graces

and charms, it would lead me on to the history of locomotion by

conveyance, and the celebration of steam, steamboats, railroads,

trains, and their marvellous rapidity.

Let me conclude with this observation--namely, that the number

of vehicles of all sorts which were wont daily to circulate in

the streets of Paris exceeded sixty-one thousand; the cabriolets,

hackney-coaches, diligences, and omnibusses--or, as the erudite

coachman called them omnibii--amounted, out of the above number, to

twenty thousand. What they are at this present moment I have no means

of ascertaining.

At the commencement of the seventeenth century there were not fifty

carriages to be seen in Paris; in the reign of Louis XIV. all the

world possessed them, as they would have been unable to present

themselves at court. No longer could they go to the Palace on horses,

although the privilege was still allowed to certain Members of

Parliament. This, however, ceased entirely about the middle of the

reign of Louis XIV.

The adoption of this general use of wheel carriages produced a

great change in the habits of social life, and had much influence

on the political state of the country. The state of public roads,

which the necessity of travelling on horseback imposes, must

immediately influence all military movements and all communication of

intelligence, must triple the expense of all commercial transfers,

and prevent, or render difficult, all merely social meetings, except

between the nearest neighbours.

When Laporte, the _valet de chambre_ to Anne of Austria, tells us

that in the Winter of the year 1636, between Piteaux and Paris, on

the route of Orleans, the road was so bad that the Queen was obliged

to sleep in her carriage because neither the mules nor carts that

carried her baggage could possibly arrive, we may conceive how little

Winter travelling there could have been in France.

Although coaches were already known and used in Paris, they were

so unlike the modern vehicles of the same name that the pleasures,

engagements, and assignations of the young men were still pursued on

horseback.

A printed paper is yet extant in the Royal, or rather Republican

Library at Paris, announcing in all its details to the public

the establishment by Government of _porte-flambeaux_ and

_porte-lanternes_; persons provided with them were to be posted at

the Louvre, the Palais de Justice, and in other public places at

Paris.

These extempore illuminations must have been very necessary in the

streets of a great town still frequented by horsemen, where no aid

of light was derived either from the doors of private houses or the

windows of shops; the habitual darkness only made more visible from

the occasional flambeaux carried before some persons of distinction

by their own servants, or accompanying their coach.

This establishment of _porte-flambeaux_, which was to take place in

October, 1662, was announced with all the forms of a long preamble,

and surrounded with all the exclusive privileges which could have

accompanied the most important measure of internal government. It

furnished a curious example of the minute details into which the

hierarchy of despotic power had already entered in France. It called

itself "The establishment of _porte-flambeaux_, or _porte-lanternes_,

for the town and suburbs of Paris, and other towns, by letters patent

of the King, approved of by Parliament, and the prices regulated by

this august body."

Then follows the orders, which forbid anybody from carrying a "link,"

or "lantern," without an express permission from the individual who

has obtained this privilege from the king, to the exclusion of all

others, under pain of a thousand francs (£40) penalty. The price

fixed for the hire of a _porte-lanterne_ was three sous a quarter

of an hour, for persons who went on foot; for those who went in

carriages five sous.

The public are then assured that the convenience of being able to

go out at night with lights will prove such a boon to all, more

especially to men of business and in trade, that the streets will be

more frequented, much to the discomfiture of thieves and vagabonds.

To nightly depredators, the darkness of the streets must have been

very favourable, as we ourselves know it is in London during a dense

fog. Thus we see Boileau makes one of the torments of a town life the

dread of thieves:

"Que dans le marché neuf tout est calme et tranquille,

Les voleurs à l'instant s'emparent,

Le bois le plus funeste, et le moins fréquenté,

Est, au Prix de Paris, un lieu de sûreté,

Malheur donc à celui qu'une affaire imprévue

Engage un peu tard au détours d'une rue,

Bientôt quatre bandits lui servant les côtés,

La bourse, il faut se rendre."

It will thus be seen that the roads in France, and streets in

Paris, in bygone days, were as bad as those of England and London;

for we find that frequent and fatal _rencontres_ took place from

disturbances in the streets.

The Prince de Conti and the Comte de Soissons' coaches meeting

in a narrow place near the Louvre, by the bad driving of their

coachmen, jostled against each other, and came to blows between

their followers, who, departing in that fashion one from another,

did, against the next morning call and assemble together such

numbers of their followers, as that the Duke de Guise joining his

brother-in-law, Prince de Conti, and the Prince de Condé with the

Comte de Soissons, his uncle, they came out into the streets with at

least three or four hundred mounted men.

In a record of that time, I find the following:--

"There do daily break forth new quarrels between the nobility in this

town (Paris), who are here in greater numbers than usually have been

heretofore, whereof one being between Monsieur d'Andelot and Monsieur

Balagny was presently taken up; and another fell out the other day

between Colonel d'Ornano and one Monsieur St. André, who, fighting

in the streets, were both hurt, and to avoid the mischief that might

ensue from such meetings, the gates of the town were for a time shut

up."

How long the monopoly of _porte-lanternes_ continued a profitable

concern I know not; but at the end of the reign of Louis XIV. the

luxury of carriages was so universal that riding among the young

men was confined entirely to the _manége_, to hunting, and to their

military life. A change of dress had indeed necessitated a change in

their mode of conveyance. The military costume was no longer that

of the Court; their boots and cloaks had disappeared, except when

with their regiments; and the knots of ribbons, the short sleeves,

the long ruffles, the lace, fringe, and embroidery, and the flowing

periwigs now general, were perfectly incompatible with an evening

drive from the Louvre to the Marais.

I may here remark that the first English stage-coach seen in France

was launched at Dieppe in the month of October, 1816. The horses

being put to, Mr. Plant, of London, a coachman of about eighteen

stone weight, and a real John Bull, mounted the box, and astonished

the inhabitants as much by his dexterity in cracking his whip as by

the bulk of his person for the burden of his horses. Away he started

for St. Denis amid the various grimaces of the populace.

A company of London proprietors have obtained the permission of

the authorities to run English stage-coaches between St. Denis and

Paris. Three more of these vehicles were on their route for the same

destination, with English coachmen and harness.

The success of the undertaking was far different from what

was expected, and after a time the enterprise was abandoned,

the Parisians preferring their lumbering conveyances to the

well-appointed "drag."

In conclusion, I am delighted to find that the love of coaching

is not extinct, that at the present time there are some admirably

well-appointed teams to be daily seen at the old "White Horse

Cellar," and that they are yearly on the increase. We have the

Brighton, the Dorking, the Guildford, the Oxford, the Tunbridge, the

Windsor, and the Watford, with cattle that would delight the eyes of

a Peer, were he alive to see them.

Both the amateur and professional "dragsmen" do their work well, and

during the Summer season nothing will prove more agreeable than the

box-seat or an outside place on one of the above mentioned coaches.

I have now reached the last stage, and shall throw aside the

ribbons. I trust the journey has been a pleasant one; if so, in

the phraseology of the road, I shall say, "I go no further. Please

remember the Coachman."

THE END.

London: Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street.

ERRATUM.

Page 306 line 20 _for_ Peer _read_ Pears

Transcriber' note:

As it states in the Erratum, the word "Peer" has been changed to

read "Pears" on page 306.