<h2>THE STAGE COACH</h2>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0041i.jpg" width-obs="50" height-obs="200" alt="I" title="I" /></div>
<div class='div2'><br/><br/>n the preceding paper I have made some general observations on the
Christmas festivities of England, and am tempted to illustrate them by
some anecdotes of a Christmas passed in the country; in perusing which I
would most courteously invite my reader to lay aside the austerity of
wisdom, and to put on that genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant of
folly, and anxious only for amusement.</div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0042.jpg" width-obs="220" height-obs="200" alt="The Three Schoolboys" title="The Three Schoolboys" /></div>
<p>In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a long
distance in one of the public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</SPAN></span>
The coach was crowded, both inside and out, with passengers, who, by
their talk, seemed principally bound to the mansions of relations or
friends to eat the Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of
game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and hares hung dangling their
long ears about the coachman's box,—presents from distant friends for
the impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked schoolboys for my
fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom health and manly spirit
which I have observed in the children of this country. They were
returning home for the holidays in high glee, and promising themselves a
world of enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of
pleasure of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they were to
perform during their six weeks' emancipation<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</SPAN></span> from the abhorred thraldom
of book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of the
meeting with the family and household, down to the very cat and dog; and
of the joy they were to give their little sisters by the presents with
which their pockets were crammed; but the meeting to which they seemed
to look forward with the greatest impatience was with Bantam, which I
found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of more
virtues than any steed since the days of Bucephalus. How he could trot!
how he could run! and then such leaps as he would take—there was not a
hedge in the whole country that he could not clear.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0045.jpg" width-obs="151" height-obs="300" alt="The Old English Stage Coachman" title="The Old English Stage Coachman" /></div>
<p>They were under the particular guardianship of the coachman, to whom,
whenever an opportunity presented, they addressed a host of questions,
and pronounced him one of the best fellows in the whole world. Indeed, I
could not but notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span>
importance of the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and
had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the button-hole of his
coat. He is always a personage full of mighty care and business, but he
is particularly so during this season, having so many commissions to
execute in consequence of the great interchange of presents. And here,
perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to my untravelled readers, to have a
sketch that may serve as a general representation of this very numerous
and important class of functionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a
language, an air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalent throughout the
fraternity; so that, wherever an English stage-coachman may be seen, he
cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft or mystery.</p>
<p>He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with red, as if
the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every vessel of the skin;
he is swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent pota<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span>tions of malt
liquors, and his bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity of
coats, in which he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching
to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat; a huge roll of
coloured handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span> and tucked in
at the bosom; and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers in his
button-hole; the present, most probably, of some enamoured country lass.
His waistcoat is commonly of some bright colour, striped; and his
small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of jockey boots
which reach about half-way up his legs.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0047.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="300" alt=""He throws down the Reins with something of an Air"" title=""He throws down the Reins with something of an Air"" /></div>
<p>All this costume is maintained with much precision; he has a pride in
having his clothes of excellent materials; and, notwithstanding the
seeming grossness of his appearance, there is still discernible that
neatness and propriety of person, which is almost inherent in an
Englishman. He enjoys great consequence and consideration along the
road; has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who look
upon him as a man of great trust and dependence; and he seems to have a
good understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. The moment he
arrives where the horses are to be changed, he throws down the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</SPAN></span> reins
with something of an air, and abandons the cattle to the care of the
ostler; his duty being merely to drive from one stage to another. When
off the box, his hands are thrust in the pockets of his greatcoat, and
he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of the most absolute
lordli<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span>ness. Here he is generally surrounded by an admiring throng of
ostlers, stable-boys, shoe-blacks, and those nameless hangers-on that
infest inns and taverns, and run errands, and do all kinds of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span> odd jobs,
for the privilege of battening on the drippings of the kitchen and the
leakage of the tap-room. These all look up to him as to an oracle;
treasure up his cant phrases; echo his opinions about horses and other
topics of jockey lore; and, above all, endeavour to imitate his air and
carriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his back thrusts his hands
in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is an embryo
Coachey.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0048.jpg" width-obs="223" height-obs="300" alt="The Stable Imitators" title="The Stable Imitators" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0050.jpg" width-obs="189" height-obs="250" alt="The Public House" title="The Public House" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0051.jpg" width-obs="172" height-obs="225" alt="The Housemaid" title="The Housemaid" /></div>
<p>Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that reigned in my
own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in every countenance
throughout the journey. A stage coach, however, carries animation always
with it, and puts the world in motion as it whirls along. The horn
sounded at the entrance of a village, produces a general bustle. Some
hasten forth to meet friends; some with bundles and bandboxes to secure
places, and in the hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of the
group that accompanies<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span> them. In the meantime, the coachman has a world
of small commissions to execute. Sometimes he delivers a hare or
pheasant; sometimes jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the door of a
public-house; and sometimes, with knowing leer and words of sly import,
hands to some half-blushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd-shaped<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span>
billet-doux from some rustic admirer. As the coach rattles through the
village, every one runs to the window, and you have glances on every
side of fresh country faces, and blooming giggling girls. At the corners
are assembled juntas of village idlers and wise men, who take their
stations there for the important purpose of seeing company pass; but the
sagest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to whom the passing of the
coach is an event fruitful of much speculation.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</SPAN></span> The smith, with the
horse's heel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle whirls by; the Cyclops
round the anvil suspend their ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to
grow cool; and the sooty spectre in brown paper cap, labouring at the
bellows, leans on the handle for a moment, and permits the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span> asthmatic
engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares through the murky
smoke and sulphureous gleams of the smithy.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0052.jpg" width-obs="267" height-obs="300" alt="The Smithy" title="The Smithy" /></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0054a.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="185" alt=""Now or never must Music be in Tune"" title=""Now or never must Music be in Tune"" /></div>
<p>Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more than usual
animation to the country, for it seemed to me as if everybody was in
good looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries of the
table, were in brisk circulation in the villages; the grocers',
butchers', and fruiterers' shops were thronged with customers. The
housewives were stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings in
order; and the glossy branches of holly, with their bright red berries,
began to appear at the windows. The scene brought to mind an old
writer's account of Christmas preparations:—"Now capons and hens,
besides turkeys, geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton—must all die;
for in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a little.
Now plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth.
Now or never must<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span> music be in tune, for the youth must dance and sing
to get them a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The country maid
leaves half<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span> her market, and must be sent again, if she forgets a pack
of cards on Christmas eve. Great is the contention of Holly and Ivy,
whether master or dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the
butler; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his
fingers."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0054b.jpg" width-obs="250" height-obs="236" alt="The Country Maid" title="The Country Maid" /></div>
<p>I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a shout from my
little travelling companions. They had been looking out of the
coach-windows for the last few miles, recognising every tree and cottage
as they approached home, and now there was a general burst of
joy—"There's John! and there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam!" cried
the happy little rogues, clapping their hands.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0056.jpg" width-obs="255" height-obs="350" alt="The Old Servant and Bantam" title="The Old Servant and Bantam" /></div>
<p>At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant in livery
waiting for them: he was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by
the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy mane
and long rusty tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span> little
dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him.</p>
<p>I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leaped
about the steady old footman, and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his
whole body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of interest; all
wanted to mount at once; and it was with some difficulty that John
arranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride
first.</p>
<p>Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog bounding and barking
before him, and the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</SPAN></span> others holding John's hands; both talking at once,
and overpowering him by questions about home, and with school anecdotes.
I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know whether
pleasure or melancholy predominated: for I was reminded of those days
when, like them, I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a holiday was
the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards to
water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the road brought
us in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just distinguish the forms
of a lady and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</SPAN></span> two young girls in the portico, and I saw my little
comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage
road. I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of witnessing the happy
meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0057.jpg" width-obs="282" height-obs="225" alt="A Neat Country Seat" title="A Neat Country Seat" /></div>
<p>In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass the
night. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one side
the light of a rousing kitchen fire, beaming through a window. I
entered, and admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of
convenience, neatness, and broad honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an
English inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and
tin vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there with a
Christmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, were suspended
from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the
fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-scoured deal table
extended along<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</SPAN></span> one side of the kitchen, with a cold round of beef, and
other hearty viands upon it, over which two foaming tankards of ale
seemed mounting guard. Travellers of inferior order were preparing to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</SPAN></span>
attack this stout repast, while others sat smoking and gossiping over
their ale on two high-backed oaken seats beside the fire. Trim
housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards under the directions of
a fresh, bustling landlady; but still seizing an occasional moment to
exchange a flippant word, and have a rallying laugh, with the group
round the fire. The scene completely realised Poor Robin's humble idea
of the comforts of mid-winter.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0059.jpg" width-obs="314" height-obs="350" alt="Inn Kitchen" title="Inn Kitchen" /></div>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Now trees their leafy hats do bare">
<tr><td align='left'>Now trees their leafy hats do bare,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>To reverence Winter's silver hair;</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>A handsome hostess, merry host,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>A pot of ale now and a toast,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Tobacco and a good coal fire,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Are things this season doth require.<SPAN name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</SPAN></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove up to the door.
A young gentleman stepped out, and by the light of the lamps I caught a
glimpse of a countenance which I thought I knew. I moved forward to get
a nearer view,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</SPAN></span> when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it was
Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly good-humoured young fellow, with whom I
had once travelled on the Continent. Our meeting was extremely cordial;
for the countenance of an old fellow-traveller always brings up the
recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and
excellent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient interview at an inn
was impossible; and finding that I was not pressed for time, and was
merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should give him
a day or two at his father's country-seat, to which he was going to pass
the holidays, and which lay at a few miles' distance. "It is better than
eating a solitary Christmas dinner at an inn," said he; "and I can
assure you of a hearty welcome in something of the old-fashion style."
His reasoning was cogent; and I must confess the preparation I had seen
for universal festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a little
impatient of my loneliness. I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</SPAN></span> closed, therefore, at once with his
invitation: the chaise drove up to the door; and in a few moments I was
on my way to the family mansion of the Bracebridges.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0062.jpg" width-obs="152" height-obs="200" alt="The Recognition. Tailpiece" title="The Recognition. Tailpiece" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></SPAN> Poor Robin's Almanack, 1684.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0063title.jpg" width-obs="232" height-obs="55" alt="Christmas Eve" title="Christmas Eve" /></div>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Blessing">
<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0064top.png" width-obs="400" height-obs="59" alt="Blessing Top" title="Blessing Top" />
</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0064left.png" width-obs="56" height-obs="250" alt="Blessing left" title="Blessing left" />
</td><td align='right'><div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Blessing">
<tr><td align='left'>Saint Francis and Saint Benedight</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Blesse this house from wicked wight;</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>From the night-mare and the goblin,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>That is hight good-fellow Robin;</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Keep it from all evil spirits,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets:</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">From curfew time</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the next prime.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>
<span class="smcap">Cartwright.</span><br/></td>
<td align='left'><ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0064right.png" width-obs="115" height-obs="250" alt="Blessing right" title="Blessing right" />
</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0064bottom.png" width-obs="275" height-obs="35" alt="Blessing bottom" title="Blessing bottom" />
</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/oldchristmas_0065top.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="291" alt="The Post-chaise" title="The Post-chaise" /></div>
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