128 THE COACHING ERA 



pocket handkerchief. The guard of one of the coaches 

 came in to announce the expiration of time. Oh, for 

 the pen of Fielding or the pencil of Hogarth to describe 

 the scene that ensued! (Horn) "Come, ladies and 

 gentlemen, we're all ready — All ready, sir. What do you 

 mean by all ready (pulHng out his watch). We haven't 

 been here ten minutes — Where's the bill? — Vat, four 

 shilHngs for that ere Httle bit of weel, and that 'Foxhall' 

 slice of ham?— I never see'd such an imposition in all my 

 life: you treat people in stage-coaches more like convicts 

 than gentlefolks. If ever I come by this here coach again, 

 I'll bring my supper with me in my pocket — that's what 

 I'll do. — Waiter, where's my cane I laid in the chair? — 

 Talking of canes, where's my snuff-box I laid down on 

 the table? — And waiter, where's the fishing-rod I put in 

 that window?" 



"Every man for himself, and the devil take the hinder- 

 most," was the maxim at a coach meal; manners were at 

 a premium, it being generally conceded that there was 

 no time to waste on civilities. George Field, desirous of 

 paying Constable the highest tribute in his power, and 

 to instance the artist's innate good breeding, did so by 

 saying, "He was a gentleman in a stage-coach, nay, more, 

 a gentleman at a stage-coach dinner." 



Inexperienced travellers left the table more hungry 

 than when they sat down; old hands learnt to dine "in 

 the cracking of a whip" according to Leigh Hunt. 

 "They stick with their fork, they joint, they sliver, they 

 bolt. Legs and wings vanish before them like a dragon 

 before a knight-errant. But if one is not a clergyman or a 

 regular jolly fellow, one has no chance this way. To be 

 diffident or polite is fatal. It is a merit eagerly acknow- 



