Coaching, with Anecdotes of the Road. William Pitt Lord Lennox

of travelling on horseback and by water. Petitions embodying such opinions as these were presented to the King in Council from several companies of the City of London, from several provincial towns, and from the justices of several counties."

      It is difficult to determine the exact period at which a stage-coach first appeared upon the road, for there is a wide difference between the stage-coach of the last century and the flying coaches of the previous one. Although the stage-coach may have improved in speed, its discomfort still existed, as may be gleaned from the following lines written by Dean Swift on his journey from London to Chester:—

       "Resolved to visit a far-distant friend,

      A porter to the Bull and Gate I send,

      And bid the man at all events engage

      Some place or other in the Chester stage.

      The man returns—''Tis done as soon as said,

      Your Honour's sure when once the money's paid.

      My brother whip, impatient of delay,

      Puts too at three and swears he cannot stay.'

      (Four dismal hours ere the break of day.)

      Roused from sound sleep—thrice called—at length I rise,

      Yawning, stretch out my arms, half closed my eyes;

      By steps and lanthorn enter the machine,

      And take my place, how cordially, between

      Two aged matrons of excessive bulk,

      To mend the matter, too, of meaner folk;

      While in like mood, jammed in on t'other side,

      A bullying captain and a fair one ride,

      Foolish as fair, and in whose lap a boy—

      Our plague eternal, but her only joy.

      At last, the glorious number to complete,

      Steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat;

      When soon, by every hillock, rut, and stone,

      In each other's faces by turns we're thrown.

      This grandam scolds, that coughs, the captain swears,

      The fair one screams, and has a thousand fears;

      While our plump landlord, trained in other lore,

      Slumbers at ease, nor yet ashamed to snore;

      And Master Dicky, in his mother's lap,

      Squalling, at once brings up three meals of pap.

      Sweet company! Next time, I do protest, Sir,

      I'd walk to Dublin, ere I ride to Chester!"

      As Dean Swift died in 1745, at the green old age of seventy-eight, the above lines were probably written about the close of the previous century; and certainly not much progress was made for the comfort of passengers, as I can myself bear testimony. I well remember the lumbering, slow coach that used to convey me from London to Chichester thrice a year, when the holidays from Westminster came about. It started at five o'clock in the morning, reaching its destination late in the evening, six inside passengers being stuffed in a small space capable of holding four comfortably. At all the hills—and there are plenty on this road—we were politely asked to descend from the vehicle, as the wretched horses could scarcely drag their heavy load even on level ground. It was always considered in those days dangerous to mount the roof; still any risk was better than being stifled inside, and often have I, despite the inclemency of the weather, taken the box seat, getting thoroughly wet through before half my journey had been accomplished.

      This reminds me of a witticism of a guard who, being told by a passenger that he had tried every sort of waterproof coat, but that nothing would keep him dry,

      "Why, then," said the other, "don't you invest a penny in a Yarmouth bloater? Eat that, and I warrant you'll be dry all day?"

      None except those who have been victims to the misery of inside berths can imagine the wretchedness of them—a coach licensed to carry six inside—for so small was the space, so low was the roof, that the legs of the inmates were cramped, and their backs doubled up. Then the atmosphere was most oppressive—forty, sometimes fifty, stone of human beings huddled together, with both windows up. Again, the occupants—occasionally a fat nurse and a squalling baby; a farmer, rude in health and manners; a painted old Jezebel, redolent of Macassar oil and patchouli; a fledgling dandy, strong of musk; a bloated publican, on the verge of delirium tremens, who, as the old song says, "kept his spirits up by pouring spirits down;" a snuffy old maid, whose nasal organ was so supplied with "lundyfoot" that it set her companions sneezing immoderately. Then the inside passengers were to be fed, and a strong odour of cheese, apples, oranges, cakes, brandy, rum, gin, beer prevailed everywhere.

      Often in my early days have I travelled from London to Brighthelmstone (now called Brighton) in a coach thus described:—

      "Lewes and Brighthelmstone—new machine to hold four persons, by Charley, sets out by the 'George Inn,' in the Haymarket, St. James's at six o'clock in the morning, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in one day to the 'Star' at Lewes, and the 'Old Ship' at Brighthelmstone, and returns from there every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Inside passengers to Lewes to pay thirteen shillings; to Brighthelmstone, sixteen shillings. To be allowed fourteen pounds weight of baggage, all above to pay one penny per pound."

      The above was a great improvement upon a coach previously drawn by six long-tailed black horses, thus described:—

      "Batchelor's Old Godstone, East Grinstead, and Lewes stage continues to set out every Tuesday at nine o'clock and Saturday at five o'clock from the 'Talbot Inn', in the Borough, returning every Monday and Thursday. Children in lap and outside passengers to pay half price. Half of the fare to be paid at booking. Performed, if God permit, by J. Batchelor."

      I may here remind my readers that when the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV., selected Brighton, as a marine residence, and squandered thousands and thousands of pounds upon the Pavilion, the journey from London to this then small fishing town occupied two days; the first night being passed at Reigate or at Cuckfield, according to the road the stage travelled.

      About seventy-five years ago an attempt was made to run through in one day, and, to the surprise of many, was accomplished; but it was not until 1823 that the Brighton road became (what it continued to be until the rail was introduced) the first in England for well-appointed coaches, first-rate teams, and gentleman-like drivers.

      Harry Stevenson, who was educated at Cambridge, was the first to introduce the fast light coach, called the "Waterwitch," and truly did he "witch the world with noble coachmanship." After a time this beau-ideal of dragsmen started another coach in lieu of the "Waterwitch," which he called the "Age," and which was unrivalled. Who that ever saw that fancy team, the skewbald, dun, chestnut, and roan, sightly and full of action, leave the Castle Square, witnessed that which never has been and never can be equalled, in this or in any other country. With Stevenson commenced the rage for driving public conveyances by noblemen and gentlemen, to which I shall refer in a future chapter.

      It may here not be out of place to lay before my readers a statement of the working of the stage-coaches in bygone days. In 1742 a stage-coach left London for Oxford at seven o'clock in the morning, and reached Uxbridge at midday. It arrived at High Wycombe at five in the evening, where it rested for the night, and proceeded at the same rate for the seat of learning on the morrow. Here, then, were ten hours consumed each day in travelling twenty-seven miles, and nearly two days in performing what was afterwards done under six hours by the "Defiance" and other coaches. To go from London to York used to take six days.

      In 1784 I read of the Edinburgh diligence, horsed with a pair, which set off daily from the "Saracen's Head," in the Gallowgate, Glasgow, at seven o'clock in the morning, and arrived at Edinburgh at eight o'clock at night. This conveyance stopped at Cumbernauld