comes vividly back to my recollection a scene which I have heard her describe, of a very different character from the last, though still connected with the pillion. This lady and three or four of her companions dared, or were dared by their gentlemen friends, to go out coursing with them on pillions. I think there were five or six couples in the field. All of course went well enough until the hare was started. The horses were of high mettle, and then away they went. The ladies kept their seats until a ploughed field had to be crossed, when the horses with their double load plunged so violently, that they all flew off in different directions, not one remaining to risk the experiment of the leap over the surrounding fence.
But if the female partnership in the double-riding was of a somewhat subservient and dependent nature, there were cases—and my father used to tell of one—in which the man had undoubtedly the worst of it. To this man, at least, it was so, though many might have considered his situation less disagreeable than he did. On this occasion a lady of great dignity and importance had to be conducted, in the usual way, along with other members of the family with whom she was visiting; and, as there must always have been considerable difficulty in portioning out the different couples in the outset, it so chanced that an unusually bashful young man was appointed to be her conductor. To a man of this description it must have been rather a delicate affair to find himself completely fixed into a place so very close to any woman; but, in this instance, he was especially covered with confusion. Once in the saddle, however, and his back to the lady, the worst would be over, and his blushes, because unseen, would naturally cease. Whether from embarrassment attendant upon his circumstances, or from some other cause, this ill-assorted couple had not proceeded far before the young man dropped his whip. He had to dismount to pick it up, and being, most probably, not a very experienced rider, in mounting again he committed the oversight of turning himself the wrong way, and put his foot in the stirrup so that his seat in the saddle was exactly reversed—his back being to the head of the horse, and his face almost in direct collision with that of the lady.
Upon the whole, however, with the exception of a few rare instances, this mode of travelling was most sedate and dignified. It was by no means confined to the ruder portions of society—many a lady of wealth and influence being conducted in this manner by her footman, when making her formal calls. Many pleasant parties, too, were made up by such couples, and long journeys, as far as from York to London, were performed by slow stages in this manner. A little farther back, we see even the fair young bride conveyed to her new home on a pillion behind her happy husband, with her wedding garments still upon her.
I have often listened with peculiar interest to the descriptions which I persuaded a very handsome old lady to give me of the style in which she rode to her husband’s home, on a pillion behind him, on her wedding-day. She said her hat was of white satin, tied with a broad white ribbon. I forget what was the kind of gown she wore, but I know there was spread over it in front a wide, clear, India muslin apron; that over her shoulders was drawn a delicate silk shawl, neatly pinned down at the waist; while on her arms she had long silk mittens, which just left uncovered a bit of the fine round arm near the elbow. The gentleman was a physician of talent and property, so that it was from no degrading necessity that they travelled in this style; and if the wonderfully handsome countenance of a woman of eighty may be interpreted as a record of her youthful beauty, he must, in that journey, have turned his back upon a picture as attractive as ever charmed a lover’s fancy.
THE OLD PLAYER’S STORY.
(A PLEA FOR THE DRAMATIC COLLEGE.)
I must confess to a curiosity about poor people. Their ways, manners, habits, modes of existence and thought, have for me a charm that I do not find in the lives of their richer fellows. Their struggles against hunger and poverty, more enduring—sometimes more noble—than those of heroes on the battlefield, are to me as interesting a portion of human experience as the world presents.
It is no wonder, then, that I find myself in strange places sometimes. Now in a dirty cottage, now in a cellar still dirtier, now in a workshop, now in a garret. I find it interesting; I like to see these bees building up their little cells, living their little lives, and sinking little by little under the weight of a heavy burden.
Feeling this, I embraced with all eagerness the offer of an intelligent master of a workhouse to visit the establishment under his charge. He received me at the door, and led me through the various rooms. The occupants were nearly all old men, a few—very few—were younger and sickly-looking, all dressed alike in the grey suit, and looking all alike, in a sullen and hopeless expression that is very saddening to see on human faces. Of course I asked questions by the score, and was answered. Few of them liked to discuss the cause of their ending their days in that place. Some few said it was misfortune; some said—poor old fellows—that their children had died; some did not know exactly what it was had brought them there. They had very little bread where they were, they said; and the master smiled.
“You’ve enough to eat, Brown?”
“Yes. I don’t starve, but somehow I never feel full, always waiting for next meal; ’taint pleasant sort of feeling that; still I can’t help it, I am here, and shall be till I goes.”
The last word was half regretful, half expectant in its tone.
“Haven’t a bit of ’bacca with you, sir? I miss that as much as anything.”
I gave old Brown an Havannah, and left him happy; it is astonishing how little is required to make an old man of seventy in a workhouse, happy.
“He is a fair sample of your birds, I suppose,” said I.
