COACHMEN 65 



his sworn enemies, but he entertained something like 

 friendliness for a certain sporting parson who lived in 

 Oxford, and whose mania was coaching. One day, 

 after a sharp dispute with another traveller who also 

 desired it, he secured the box-seat on the Leamington 

 coach, which a few minutes later upset and caused his 

 death. 



His funeral was unique, for as a tribute to his ruling 

 passion his coi^n was placed in a hearse drawn by- 

 four horses, and John Spooner deputed to drive it. To 

 the horror and consternation of the mourners, Spooner 

 had no sooner mounted the box than he whipped up the 

 astonished black horses and drove off as hard as he could 

 and arrived at the churchyard long before the rest of the 

 procession. He was remonstrated with for his scandalous 

 behaviour, but, feeling that he had known the dead man 

 better than any of them, he replied coolly: "You couldn't 

 drive fast enough for him when he was alive, so I thought 

 I would give him a good shake up when he was dead." 



Sporting parsons were somewhat rare and, as a rule, 

 churchmen and coachmen were not affinities. One day 

 a clergyman went to the Cheltenham booking-office and 

 took the box-seat on the Isis coach which was driven by 

 Ned Burford, who was notorious for the fluency of his 

 language. The book-keeper, as he took the money, 

 coughed and looked doubtful, and wishing to save the 

 clergyman pain, said deprecatingly: 



"I do not think you will feel quite at home with the 

 coachman, sir." 



"Why not?" inquired the parson. 

 5 



