60

THE OLD COACHMAN.

O'er all his passengers he reigns as King,
Yet unto every one is underling;

And those who cannot live from him asunder,
Gratefully in his care he 'll take them under:
In worth and excellence he does outdo them,
Yet being above them, he still seems below them:
From others he still stands in need of nothing,
Yet upon all depends for food and clothing."

MILTON, varied.

I was wondering to myself the other day, what would become of those hard-faced, weather-beaten old coachmen, which the railways are daily throwing off the road; and what other occupation those lame, old, rough-headed ostlers could follow; fellows whose legs have been broken and bruised by severe kicks, who just make their appearance for the moment, until the horses are in readiness, then dart into their darklooking dwellings, to brush, and rub, and sweat, until another coach rolls up and calls for a fresh supply from their stables. How much are we beholden to these men of the whip and wheel!—these pendulums between city and suburb, carrying the knowing look of the town in their gait, and the bluff farmer in their countenance. One of these old Jehus I saw during my last visit to the country, one who had driven on a line of road for forty years, and during that period through wind, rain, and snow, had averaged nearly eighty miles every day. Sleeping or waking he knew

the road, could tell how many nods a level mile would afford him, and had so well tutored his eyes, that they would open of their own accord at any particular turning or rising of the ground. He had looked in the windows, as. he passed, at sire and son, and seen even the latter grow grey with stitching on the same shop-board, or hammering in the same stall; had passed burial and marriage on the road; borne down the bonny bride and brought her home the old lady, with her addition of blooming daughters, just looking as lovely as their mother did, when, thirty years before, she rode beside him. He had seen the comfortable thatched farm-house give place to the new mansion of the lawyer; encountered highwaymen, and conveyed transports; had borne tidings of deaths and births; had a tear for sorrow and a smile with his good news, - loved his horses next to his family; and never refused a poor foot-beaten wayfarer a few miles' ride when his coach was not overladen.

Ten hours a-day had he been accustomed to pass on the box for above forty years; the very air of heaven had become familiar with his face, and the wind that seemed to cut others through, blew around him unregarded. Even one particular stone in the old inn yard, up to which he always drove to within an inch, and on which he always alighted, was worn hollow by his footsteps. Oh, how he hated road-menders ! The old holes and deep ruts had a charm for him, and when they were repaired, long custom caused him to slacken the reins, and drive over the spots with the same care as when they were the most dangerous. He swore that the cutting down of a hill had ruined four of his best horses; that it was worse than a change of diet to them, and it took him years before he could fancy to go at full speed over ground where he had been accustomed to walk them slowly. Oh! how he hated the "New Beer Shops,"

the "Tom-and-Jerrys" of the road side! he threw the parcels in at their doorways as if they had been infected with the plague, and put the accustomed fee into his huge pockets without even deigning to throw back a look of thanks; he would never alight to drink there on the hottest day in summer, but travel on if his throat was choked with dust to the old-established road-side inn. Dearly did he love old roads and old customs, and once endangered his own neck by overthrowing the coach, when he had only an old crusty magistrate for a passenger, who had been instrumental in stopping an ancient footpath which led to a village. No money could prevail upon him to carry a passenger for the yellow party at an election; he actually painted his coach blue that it might be a terror to them.

He always wore a crape round his hat when one of his brother whips was dead, and was a long time before he would lift up his elbow (the signal of recognition) to a new hand who came on the road. If he chanced to be the son of an old coachman, then

"He loved him like a very brother."

He never failed to curse the steamboats when he drove over the bridge; and as to the commencement of the railroad, I believe he wished the earth would open and swallow up all who were engaged on it. He always carried the newspaper in his pocket, which contained accounts of accidents by either steam-boats or railways, and was sure to pass it from one passenger to another; pointing out the identical paragraph which he wished them to read, and returning it to his pocket with a deep-meaning shake of the head. Still he was a kind-hearted man, and there was one old lame ostler on the road, whom he always called Thomas, bid him not to hurry, and never omitted to lend him a hand in harnessing the horses to the coach, - invited him to take a

glass of ale, and always wished him good night. There was an old man, too, who broke stones on the road, and generally had two or three miles to go home, for whom the old Coachman reserved a place, though often at a sacrifice of his own perquisites. Nor could I ever hear of his having received a farthing for conveying a parcel to an old widow woman every week, which was a present of tea and sugar from her daughter, who lived in service at a distant market town. Yes, there was many an eye that beamed kindly, and many a heart that blessed secretly the old Coachman.

What a pleasure it was to sit on the box with him, behind four good horses, before his temper was soured by railways, and when his fine mottled face was made transparent by the light of good humour shining through it. How he would dwell upon the qualities of his steeds; praise the shortness of their backs, the bend of their necks, and, occasionally, jerk the rein to give you a better view of the beauty of one or other of their heads; vowing all the while, that they knew every word he said, and were even then pricking up their ears at his praise! Then, how original were his images! the terms in which he descanted on the peculiar properties for which his horses were valued, being, no doubt, such as had been used by the knowing ones in horse-flesh for centuries. Sometimes he would compare them to men, and say that such a little nag had a heart as proud as a prince, and was as bold and hardy as a general. Then would he point out the resemblance they bore to a lion, in their broad breasts, stiff necks, wild faces, and strong legs. In another he found the qualities of the ox-its broad ribs, short pasterns, large nose, and upright standing. So he would run on, and next comparing them to the fox, he would dilate on their round sides, black legs, short trot, and small heads. Nor could the ass escape him, for like it he would have them small-mouthed, long-reined, and thin-crested.