THE STAGE COACH
by Washington Irving
Omne bene
Sine poena
Tempus est ludendi.
Venit hora
Absque mora
Libros deponendi.
OLD HOLIDAY SCHOOL SONG.
IN THE preceding paper I have made some general observations onthe Christmas festivities of England, and am tempted to illustratethem by some anecdotes of a Christmas passed in the country; inperusing which I would most courteously invite my reader to layaside the austerity of wisdom, and to put on that genuine holidayspirit which is tolerant of folly, and anxious only for amusement.
In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a longdistance in one of the public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas.
The coach was crowded, both inside and out, with passengers, who, bytheir talk, seemed principally bound to the mansions of relations orfriends, to eat the Christmas dinner. It was loaded also withhampers of game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and hares hungdangling their long ears about the coachman's box, presents fromdistant friends for the impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheekedboys for my fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom health andmanly spirit which I have observed in the children of this country.
They were returning home for the holidays in high glee, andpromising themselves a world of enjoyment. It was delightful to hearthe gigantic plans of the little rogues, and the impracticable featsthey were to perform during their six weeks' emancipation from theabhorred thraldom of book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full ofanticipations of the meeting with the family and household, down tothe very cat and dog; and of the joy they were to give their littlesisters by the presents with which their pockets were crammed; but themeeting to which they seemed to look forward with the greatestimpatience was with Bantam, which I found to be a pony, and, accordingto their talk, possessed of more virtues than any steed since the daysof Bucephalus. How he could trot! how he could run! and then suchleaps as he would take- there was not a hedge in the whole countrythat he could not clear.
They were under the particular guardianship of the coachman, towhom, whenever an opportunity presented, they addressed a host ofquestions, and pronounced him one of the best fellows in the world.
Indeed, I could not but notice the more than ordinary air of bustleand importance of the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side,and had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the buttonhole ofhis coat. He is always a personage full of mighty care and business,but he is particularly so during this season, having so manycommissions to execute in consequence of the great interchange ofpresents. And here, perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to myuntravelled readers, to have a sketch that may serve as a generalrepresentation of this very numerous and important class offunctionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a language, an air,peculiar to themselves, and prevalent throughout the fraternity; sothat, wherever an English stage coachman may be seen, he cannot bemistaken for one of any other craft or mystery.
He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with red, asif the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every vessel ofthe skin; he is swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations ofmalt liquors, and his bulk is still further increased by amultiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like a cauliflower, theupper one reaching to his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crownedhat; a huge roll of colored handkerchief about his neck, knowinglyknotted and tucked in at the bosom; and has in summer time a largebouquet of flowers in his button-hole; the present, most probably,of some enamored country lass. His waistcoat is commonly of somebright color, striped, and his small clothes extend far below theknees, to meet a pair of jockey boots which reach about half way uphis legs.
All this costume is maintained with much precision; he has a pridein having his clothes of excellent materials; and, notwithstanding theseeming grossness of his appearance, there is still discernible thatneatness and propriety of person, which is almost inherent in anEnglishman. He enjoys great consequence and consideration along theroad; has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who lookupon him as a man of great trust and dependence; and he seems tohave a good understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. Themoment he arrives where the horses are to be changed, he throws downthe reins with something of an air, and abandons the cattle to thecare of the hostler; his duty being merely to drive from one stageto another. When off the box, his hands are thrust into the pockets ofhis great coat, and he rolls about the inn yard with an air of themost absolute lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded by anadmiring throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, and thosenameless hangers-on, that infest inns and taverns, and run errands,and do all kind of odd jobs, for the privilege of battening on thedrippings of the kitchen and the leakage of the tap-room. These alllook up to him as to an oracle; treasure up his cant phrases; echo hisopinions about horses and other topics of jockey lore; and, above all,endeavor to imitate his air and carriage. Every ragamuffin that hasa coat to his back, thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls in hisgait, talks slang, and is an embryo Coachey.
Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that reigned inmy own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in every countenancethroughout the journey. A stage coach, however, carries animationalways with it, and puts the world in motion as it whirls along. Thehorn, sounded at the entrance of a village, produces a general bustle.
