OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE MEN—ADVENTURE ON THE FAR-FAMED "TANTIVY" COACH—GALLANT CONDUCT OF THE GUARD—MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT DRIVING—JEM REVELL OF "THE PELICAN"—MY UPSET—TANDEM DRIVING—THE OSTLER—COUNTRY INNS—HOTEL CHARGES.

CHAPTER XIII.

In the days I write of driving was a favourite pursuit, and, independent of the four-in-hand clubs, every young fellow aspired to handle the ribbons whenever a chance threw a drive in his way. The Oxford and Cambridge men were first-rate dragsmen, and many a reverend who may now devote his leisure to "coaching" youths for college or the Army was then "coaching" very different teams. There were some first-rate "turns-out" on the Oxford road. Never shall I forget an adventure that occurred to me on the box of the far-famed "Tantivy."

We had just entered the University from Woodstock, when suddenly the horses started off at an awful pace. What made matters worse was that we saw at a distance some men employed in removing a large tree that had fallen during the storm of the previous night across the road near St. John's College. The coachman shook his head, looking very nervous, while the guard, a most powerful man, stood up to be prepared for any emergency.

On we went, the coachman trying in vain to check the galloping steeds, and we had got within a few yards of the critical spot, when the guard, crawling over the roof, managed somehow or other to get on the footboard, when, with a spring, he threw himself on the back of the near wheeler, and with a giant's grasp checked the horses at the very moment the leaders were about to charge the tree.

Down they came, but the guard never yielded an inch, and, with the assistance of the country people nearest at hand the leaders regained their legs without the slightest damage to man, horse, coach, or harness. A subscription for our gallant preserver was got up on the spot.

The coachmen of well-appointed "drags" were a privileged class, they were familiar, "but by no means vulgar," and were universal favourites with all who came in contact with them; Stevenson, the high-bred University man, who, if not, up to "coaching" young graduates for college honours, easily won his "great go" on the box; Parson Dennis, who drove the "White Lion" coach to Bath, knew more of modern than biblical Jehus; Black Will, who drove the Oxford "Defiance," rather ferocious in appearance, but gentle by nature as a lamb. Others, too, I might mention, if memory served me, who raised themselves to the highest pinnacle of fame as civil, obliging, and intelligent men.

Having already given the doings of others on the road, I shall now proceed to record my own, hoping that I may be forgiven for indulging in that offensive of all offensive pronouns—I.

"The root of all learning," writes Aristotle, "is bitter, but the fruit is sweet," an apothegm which will particularly apply to driving.

I well remember, when I was at a private tutor's, at Littlewick-green, Maidenhead Thicket, and subsequently at Donnington-grove, near Newbury, and a bit of a swell, being greatly smitten with the saying of the above learned philosopher. I never got into a buggy, handled the ribbons, rattled the hired horse along at a crack-skull pace of twelve miles an hour, which generally ended in an upset, without reflecting on the above quoted authority which, being interpreted, means it is wormwood to be immersed in a wet ditch, but pleasant enough to get out again.

Poor defunct Jem Revell, of the "Pelican," Newbury, was my tutor. Under his auspices I first mounted the box of a tandem, learned the elegant and indispensable accomplishment of driving that most dangerous vehicle, and studied the appalling manoeuvre of turning out of a narrow inn-yard into a densely populated street. Every day, after hours devoted to study, was my drive repeated, until in process of time inexperience was conquered, and, "with elbows squared, and wrists turned down," I could catch hold of the wheeler and leader, in grand style—remembering with Horace that "sÆpe stylum vertas," and give the go-by to less dashing whips, with a most condescending nod.

At last, after serving a long and tedious apprenticeship, I reached the long-expected haven of success, and set up a dog-cart and pair on my own account. Never shall I forget that proud hour of my triumph when I made my first public essay out of the yard of the "Pelican," on my road to Reading races. I was accompanied by about five or six of my comrades on horseback, and by one or two aspiring Dennets, the drivers of which vainly essayed to beat my two thoroughbred nags.

As we entered the town, for a young "chum" of mine, now long since gathered to his ancestors, sat by my side, the streets were lined with an infinite assemblage of peers and peasants, squires and blacklegs, sporting men and bettors, horse-dealers, jockeys, grooms, trainers, and cardsellers.

However much it may tell against me—however greatly I may lower myself in the estimation of the reader—truth compels me to admit that my aspiring vanity metamorphosed the gaping crowd into admirers of myself and my turn-out; and when my companion sounded the mail-horn, when I cracked my whip and shook my head knowingly—well, there was not much in that, as a cynic will remark—I, with "all my blushing honours thick around me," felt as proud as any peacock that ever strutted in a poultry-yard.

But, alas for human greatness! my pride was doomed to have a fall. Just as we approached the "Bear Inn" the leader became restive, turned round and stared me in the face, a mode of salutation by no means agreeable; then he began to lash out, and finally succeeded in upsetting us and breaking the shafts. Happily, we escaped unhurt in body, though not in feeling.

In thus alluding to scenes of juvenile folly, I cannot forget that I once was young, and that there are still many (among them my only son, now studying farming at Her Majesty's Royal Norfolk Farm, Windsor Great Park), with others at private tutors' and college, equally devoted to the box as I was. To them I would offer a few suggestions respecting tandem-driving, which of all vehicles is the most difficult to manage.

Its height from the ground and peculiar lightness of construction renders it, at first sight, a very formidable machine; and the only way to prevent disaster is for the driver to obtain a firm grasp of the reins before he ventures to cheer his tits, and to ascertain the amount of work which wheeler and leader do, so that the traces may be gently tightened—a proof that both animals are doing their duty. In returning home at night there is no instinct like that of the horse; he seems to acquire mind by the departure of light, and to succeed best when man is most ready to despair.

I have trotted a tandem from London to Windsor, at twelve o'clock at night, in the midst of the darkest and most tremendous thunderstorm I ever witnessed, with little chance of safety but what I owed to the docility of my horses. This is an instinct which, like that of the prophet's ass, should not be balked; and so firmly am I convinced of the superior intelligence of the quadruped to the biped, in cases of similar difficulty, that I would actually give up my own fancy to let him have his head, and make the best he can of it. In going down hill, there is one very necessary caution to be observed to which I must now refer.

The mode of harnessing a tandem differs from that most usually adopted in a four-in-hand; so that if your leader is a faster trotter than your wheeler, he draws the collar over the neck of the shaft-horse, and a partial strangulation not unfrequently occurs. To prevent this, keep your wheeler at his full pace, slackening in the meantime the extra speed of your leader. The above is necessary at all times—doubly so when going down hill. Whenever you stop to bait, never omit to remain in the stable, unless you have a most trustworthy groom, during the time of feeding. Depend upon it, haud inexpertus loquor. There are modern ostlers, of course, with many honourable exceptions, who are not unlike the coachmen satirised by the author of "High Life Below Stairs:"

The oat-stealer, as he has not inappropriately been named, of the present day, will, we fear, in too many cases, follow the example of the unprincipled fraternity above referred to. Independent of this necessary caution, there is surely a feeling of gratitude due to the poor dumb brutes who have toiled all day in our service; and young dragsmen will do well to remember that humanity to defenceless animals is the strongest characteristic of the British sportsman. Through the introduction of the rail, a great saving has been effected, both as regards time and inn bills. Some of the "old school" still, as far as is feasible, stick to the road; but declining accommodation must diminish their numbers every day. Nothing is now so forlorn as a great, rambling, half aired, half appointed country inn; waiter acting boots, boots acting postboy, or, may be, all three; and cook acting chambermaid, barmaid, and all. The extinction of the old posting-houses is, perhaps, the only thing connected with the establishment of railways I lament.

There certainly was a nice, fresh, cool country air about the old roadside inns that was particularly grateful and refreshing on a fine evening after emerging from the roasting and stewing of a long London season. The twining roses, the sweet-scented jasmine, the fragrant honeysuckle, the bright evergreens, the flowers and fruit in the trim gardens; above all, the real rich country cream, fresh butter, and new-laid eggs. These—the inns—are now mere matter of history; and the Irishman who travelled with his eggs "because he liked them fresh" is no longer a subject of ridicule. Moreover, these inns were often prettily situated—some by the side of gliding rivers, others near rushing dams, or overlooking ancient bridges, or commanding views over extensive ranges of rich country scenery—very honeymoonish sort of places some of them were: witness the "White Hart," Cranford Bridge; the "Castle," at Salt-hill; the "Salutation," Ambleside; the "White Horse," Haslemere; the "Talbot," Ripley; the "Saracen's Head," Beaconsfield; "Royal Oak," Ivy Bridge; the "Bush," at Staines; "White Lion," Hartford Bridge, Hants; the "Swan," at Chertsey; the "Castle," Speen Hill; "Sugar-Loaf," Dunstable; and last, not least, the "Saracen's Head," Dunmow, suggestive of "The Flitch of Bacon" and the duties of matrimony—

Happily a few are still kept for happy couples on their wedding tour. The bill was generally the only disagreeable feature about these rural caravansaries; and some of the innkeepers were uncommonly exorbitant. Nevertheless, the majority of the victims were in a favourable mood for imposition. Going to London, they had all the bright prospect of a season's gaiety before them, and under that impression people—wise people at least—were inclined to give the reins of the purse a little license, and not criticise charges too severely.

Happy is the man who can pass through life in this easy, reins-on-the-neck sort of way, not suffering a slight imposition to mar the general pleasure of his journey!

Returning from the metropolis, the country innkeeper had the advantage of having his bill contrasted with a London one—an ordeal that none but a real land shark would wish to shrink from. A comparison of inn charges throughout England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, for the same style of entertainment, would be curious if not instructive. They would show (what, however, almost every other line of life shows) that one often pays double for nearly the same thing by going to different places for it. Take a bottle of soda-water, for instance. Walk into a large, fashionable hotel, and desire the waiter to bring you one. You drink it, and ask,

"What's to pay?"

"A shilling, if you please, Sir," (or ninepence—which is the same thing), waiters at large hotels never having any coppers. If you were to go to the next chemist's you would get it for fourpence—very likely of the same quality. But the great impositions were, after all, the charges for wax-lights and breakfasts.

Gas has now superseded the former, but breakfasts were and are still charged too high. "Breakfast, with eggs and bacon, three shillings and sixpence," was and is the charge at fashionable hotels; at less pretentious ones you may get the same for two shillings, or at most half-a-crown.