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N the course of a December tour in Yorkshi

IN the course of a Decemce in one of the p

coaches, on the day preceding Christmas. The c was crowded, both inside and out, with passen who, by their talk, seemed principally bound to mansions of relations or friends, to eat the Ch mas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and h hung dangling their long ears about the coachm box, presents from distant friends for the impe ing feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked sch boys for my fellow-passengers inside, full of buxom health and manly spirit which I have served in the children of this country. They w returning home for the holidays, in high glee, promising themselves a world of enjoyment. was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of ple ure of the little rogues, and the impracticable fe they were to perform during their six weeks' em cipation from the abhorred thraldom of book, bir and pedagogue. They were full of the anticipatio of the meeting with the family and household, do to the very cat and dog; and of the joy they we to give their little sisters, by the presents with whi their pockets were crammed; but the meeting which they seemed to look forward with the greate impatience was with Bantam, which I found to a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed more virtues than any steed since the days of B cephalus. How he could trot! how he could run! a then such leaps as he would take-there was not hedge in the whole country that he could not clea They were under the particular guardianship the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunit

n ordinary air of bustle and importance of the chman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and 1 a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the ttonhole of his coat. He is always a personage 1 of mighty care and business; but he is particuly so during this season, having so many comssions to execute in consequence of the great inchange of presents. And here, perhaps, it may t be unacceptable to my untraveled readers to ve a sketch that may serve as a general repreitation of this very numerous and important class functionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a ìguage, an air, peculiar to themselves, and prevait throughout the fraternity; so that, wherever English stage-coachman may be seen, he cannot mistaken for one of any other craft or mystery. He has commonly a broad full face, curiously ottled with red, as if the blood had been forced hard feeling into every vessel of the skin; he is -elled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations malt liquors, and his bulk is still further ineased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is ried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to s heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned t, a huge roll of colored handkerchief about his ck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom; d has in summer time a large bouquet of flowers his buttonhole, the present, most probably, of me enamored country lass. His waistcoat is comonly of some bright color, striped, and his smallthes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair jockey boots which reach about half-way up his

ES. All this costume is maintained with much precin; he has a pride in having his clothes of excel

that neatness and propriety of person which 1 most inherent in an Englishman. He enjoys g consequence and consideration along the road; frequent conferences with the village housew who look upon him as a man of great trust dependence; and he seems to have a good un standing with every bright-eyed country lass. moment he arrives where the horses are to changed, he throws down the reins with someth of an air, and abandons the cattle to the care the hostler; his duty being merely to drive th from one stage to another. When off the box, hands are thrust in the pockets of his great-co and he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of most absolute lordliness. Here he is generally s rounded by an admiring throng of hostlers, stab boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless hangers-on t infest inns and taverns, and run errands, and all kinds of odd jobs, for the privilege of batte ng on the drippings of the kitchen and the leaka of the tap-room. These all look up to him as an oracle; treasure up his cant phrases; echo opinions about horses and other topics of jock lore; and, above all, endeavor to imitate his a and carriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat his back thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls bis gait, talks slang, and is an embryo coachey.

Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenit that reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I say cheerfulness in every countenance throughout th journey. A stage-coach, however, carries animatio always with it, and puts the world in motion as i whirls along. The horn, sounded at the entrance of a village, produces a general bustle. Some haster forth to meet friends; some with bundles and bandboxes to secure places, and in the hurry of the mo

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delivers a hare or pheasant; sometimes jerks all parcel or newspaper to the door of a publi use; and sometimes, with knowing leer and word sly import, hands to some half-blushing, half ughing housemaid an odd-shaped billet-doux from me rustic admirer. As the coach rattles through e village, every one runs to the window, and you ve glances on every side of fresh country faces id blooming, giggling girls. At the corners ar

sembled juntos of village idlers and wise men ho take their stations there for the important pur ›se of seeing company pass; but the sagest kno generally at the blacksmith's, to whom the passing the coach is an event fruitful of much specula ɔn. The smith, with the horse's heel in his lap uses as the vehicle whirls by; the cyclops round e anvil suspend their ringing hammers, and suffe e iron to grow cool; and the sooty specter in own paper cap, laboring at the bellows, leans or e handle for a moment, and permits the asthmati gine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glare rough the murky smoke and sulphurous gloom E the smithy.

Perhaps the impending holiday might have giver more than usual animation to the country, for i emed to me as if everybody was in good look nd good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxu es of the table were in brisk circulation in the vil ges; the grocers, butchers and fruiterers' shop ere thronged with customers. The housewives wer irring briskly about putting their dwellings in or er; and the glossy branches of holly with their brigh ed berries, began to appear at the windows. Th ene brought to mind an old writer's account o hristmas preparations. "Now capons and hens be

and spice, sugar and honey, square it among I and broth. Now or never must music be in tu for the youth must dance and sing to get them heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The coun maid leaves half her market, and must be s again, if she forgets a pair of cards on Christm Great is the contention of holly and i whether master or dame wears the breeches. D and cards benefit the butler; and if the cook do r ack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers."

eve.

I was roused from this fit of luxurious medit ion by a shout from my little traveling companio They had been looking out of the coach windo for the last few miles, recognizing every tree a cottage as they approached home, and now the was a general burst of joy. "There's John! ar there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam!" cried t happy little rogues, clapping their hands.

At the end of a lane there was an old sobe ooking servant in livery waiting for them; he wa accompanied by a superannuated pointer and b he redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony with a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stoo lozing quietly by the roadside, little dreaming the bustling times that awaited him.

I was pleased to see the fondness with which th ittle fellows leaped about the steady old footman and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whol body for joy. But Bantam was the great objec of interest; all wanted to mount at once, and i was with some difficulty that John arranged tha they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.

Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the log bounding and barking before him, and the

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