Annals of the Road [pp. 181-185]

ANNALS OF 7IHE ROAD.
the windows of St. James's Palace to see the proces- with the juiciest cuts of the round of beef. He was a
sion past. storehouse of reminiscences, and had a story to tell
The departure of the mails was another sight, of every point on the road-how Farmer Darby's
which both antiquarians and sportsmen love to re- pretty daughter eloped from the big white house yoncall. At 8 P. M. the coaches, in all the "pride der with the squire's son; how by the milestone a
and panoply" of authority, gathered at the post- highwayman stopped the coach one night and rifled
IN THE INN-YARD.
office in St. Martin's-le-Grand, waiting to receive the
bags. It might have been one of the occasions on
which all ordinary circumstances are surpassed. The
tidings of a military victory had been received, and
the mail was about to convey the intelligence to a
thousand homes. Horses, men, and carriages, were
dressed in laurels and ribbons. Coachmen and guards
displayed themselves to best advantage with the roy al livery around their rotund forms. Passengers
merged the reserve of their individuality in a stronger
feeling of natural exultation, and, as the coaches
drove with the music of the bugles, the whole neighborhood rang with cheers.
The coachman was a very important functionary
with the passengers, who listened to him with the
most respectful attention if he was graciously disposed to talk, and never ventured on conversation if
he was silent. It was especially wise, with a view to
winning his good graces, to be quiet during the first
few miles of the journey, when he was busy reckoning his fares and critically examining his team. After this he would eye the passenger sitting next to
him, and, if satisfied with his appearance, would
open the conversation. It then remained for the
passenger to show a knowledge and appreciation of
the "art," two things which at once placed him in
coachee's affections, and by-and-by the reins would
be handed to him with a polite "Now, sir, have you
a pair of driving-gloves on?"-the greatest honor
that could be bestowed on a traveler of the olden
time.
There were many reasons for ingratiating one's
self with the coachman: he occupied the head of
the tavern-table at meals, and favored his friends
the passengers of their money and jewelry; how a
dingy old gentleman was riding to town with him
once who proved to be the Earl of Harrowgate; and
how the old mill across the brook was in Cromwell's
time a refuge of the great protector. He was known
by all the villagers and children on the road, and had
a smile and salute for all. His mind was of a
contemplative turn, and never exercised itself upon
things that did not belong to his business, but upon
that he was an enthusiast, calling it an art, and regarding it as next in dignity to the peerage.
Sir Henry Peyton once remarked to a coachman
of small stature with whom he was riding that it
was surprising how well he managed the four-in-hand.
"Well, sir," answered the driver, "what the big
ones does by strength, I does by hartifiz!"
Another anecdote reminds us of Tony Weller:
A few years ago a certain baronet, very fond of the
road, gave a wedding-dinner to a coachman, one of
whose brother-whips afterward described it as follows: "I walks in as free as air; hangs up my hat
on a peg behind the door; sits myself down by the
side of a young woman, as they calls a lady's-maid,
and gets as well acquainted with her in five minutes
as if I'd known her for seven years. When we goes
to dinner we has a little soup to start with and a dish
of fish, as they calls trout, spotted for all the world
like a coach-dog, and a loin of veal as white as halleyblaster, the kidney-fat as big as the crown of my hat;
a couple of ducks, stuffed with sage and inions, fit
for any lord, and a pudding you might have drove a
coach around; sherry-white and red-port more than
did us good; and at last we goes to tea. I turns my
head short around and sees Bill making rather too
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