University of Virginia Library

ENGLISH STAGE COACHMEN.

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.

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 jocky boots which reach about
half way up his legs.

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 house-wives,
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 hostler; his duty being merely
to drive from one stage to another. When off the box,
his hands are thrust into the pockets of his great coat, 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 hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, and those
nameless hangers-on, that infest inns and taverns, and
run errands, and do all kind 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 jocky 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.