Old Christmas | Page 5

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.
[Illustration]
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 potations 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 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.
[Illustration]
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 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 lordliness.
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 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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]

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 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 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.
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 asthmatic engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares
through the murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the smithy.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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