He

done; a GENTLEMAN without means, he found to be the most afflicting state in society, and of 'no use' at all in the Metropolis; he, therefore, turned his attention towards the road!' Yet not after the mode of a celebrated dramatic hero, to turn the lead into gold;' neither to trifle away his time with the 6 pretty Pollies' and 'fond Lucies;' but without hesitation he mounted the box, stuck to his leaders, handled the ribbons, and picked up, after all, a 'good living,' without quoting a single text from Scripture. Such was the outline of BILL PUT-'EM-ALONG. was patronised by the Swells; his fellowcollegians also stuck to him like glue; and his civility and attention to his passengers rendered him a host within himself. His appearance was likewise prepossessing; his manners mild and interesting; and he was always dressed like a gentleman. In fact, the passengers were afraid to offer him the usual tip at the journey's end, until he faintly observed, the Coachman !' His drag was also in unison with the rest of his character, by possessing much more the swell look of a gentleman's Four-in-hand, instead of a regular vehicle for public hire! That BILL should prove himself a most interesting feature on the box, by his observations, and his knowledge of the various classes of society that he was compelled, from his daily occupation, to mix with, will not be doubted for an instant; he was also a most cheerful and lively companion in every point of view, and perfectly capable of answering any questions put to him by the passengers, respecting the seats along the road, and the characters of the various nobility and gentry who inhabit them. Alongside of the road, too, BILL had his friends amongst the landlords of the various inns, who said of Coachy, that there was nothing of the screw about him, and what he axed for, he tipped for, like a Gent., which was more than many dragsmen did as how they could mention, although it was no matter howsomdever, here or there.' PUT'EM-ALONG was likewise a bit of a favorite with the comely hostesses, the dashing barmaids, and prime smart chambermaids, who always gave it as their opinion, when Bill's character was inquired into as a Coachman, 'that he was such a nice man, and so attentive to the females, that it was really a pleasure to go a journey with a person like Mr. PUT-'EM-ALONG."

JERRY had scarcely seated himself alongside the Coachman, when the fat knight said, Sir, I am very glad you have joined us ; you will find Coachy here as good as an almanac, intelligent upon most subjects, and witty upon all of them; I have been joking with him about the uncertainty of human affairs, the change of occupation from grave to gay: the lingo equally at variance with the two situations in life; TILLOTSON giving way to Goldfinch, in order to comply with the phraseology of the road; and the dress necessary to render

6

the character complete. I am glad to see that Mr. PUT-'EM-ALONG has got the whip hand' of his opponents; and, though not exactly holding forth' for the improvement of his flock, yet, nevertheless, he is holding them up,' and still so much confidence is placed in his exertions, to make all right,' that a great variety of souls and bodies are continually under his immediate care, in order that they may be kept in the right road, and arrive safe at the end of the journey."

Respecting the tax, which numerous passengers find fault with, of being compelled, as it were, to pay the Coachman, in addition to their fare, it might be urged, that the anxiety naturally attendant upon driving a four-horse stage; keeping strange horses at times well together, and to do their work; the duty to be performed, whether in hot or cold weather, wet or dry; the safety of the passengers always in view, either up or down the hills; the absolute necessity of keeping time; the different tempers to please, inside and out of the coach; civilities always required; and satisfaction to be given to the various proprietors. When all the above circumstances are taken into consideration, the liberal mind must be clearly satisfied, that "the LABOURER is worthy of his hire!" The stage coachmen, within the last twenty-five years, throughout England, are an improved race of men altogether; the WASTE-butt sort of CHAP is entirely removed from the box; drinking at every inn quite exploded; and the drivers in general so well togged, their linen white as snow, and viewed not only as one of the best dressed, but frequently the best behaved men upon the coach; full of anecdote; anxious to please all parties; cheerful and merry; frequently humming some well-known air, by which means a journey of fifty or sixty miles now-a-days is disposed of so quickly, as to appear more like a matter of pleasure, than the dull heavy routine connected with business and fatigue.

The mind of the "Swell Dragsman" was strong enough to bear up against the wind and the weather; but his delicate spare frame could not withstand the heat and the cold, the hail and the rain, the frost and the snow, and all the other rude elements which stage coachmen are heirs to.' But, as the punning Mercutio observes, in Romeo and Juliet, at the end of the combat with Tybalt, when the sword of the latter merely touches the body of Mercutio, "What, scratch a man to death! But no matter whether it is as deep as a well, or as wide as a barn door! it will do! I shall be a grave man to-morrow." actly so with the poor Swell Dragsman; one of his great toes was frost-bitten; considered simple in itself, as an attack upon his person, but, neglected, it ultimately produced those consequences to the Swell of the AGE," before he expected, or was prepared for it, 66 notice to quit." Thus suffering the king of terrors' to get the whip-hand of him,' also to

Ex

a

But, ah! that grim king, who sat at the feast,

Hath followed the track of thy chariot wheel;
He heeds not the ory of anguish for rest,

Nor the sorrows that time will never heal:
No,-he follows thee, thou gay and vain,
And all thy schemes of pride will mar;
He takes the wheel from thy splendid car,
And hurls thee prostrate on the plain!
Nature heeds not thy parting groan,

No more than thou didst the beggar's moan.
The sky-lark amid the full sun blaze is singing,
While down the lone valley thy death-shriek is ringing.

Ah! what are worldly pomp and glory?
An empty shadow, a noisy story!

While earthly pleasure is a fleeting dream,
And honor but the meteor's gleam.

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Stevenson was by no manner of means a lushy Cove," as his helper told a nobleman who was enquiring the cause of the absence of the coachman. "Ah, Sir," said the cad, rubbing the moisture off his peepers with his bunch of fives, a " tiny bit,' after corporal Trim's affecting style of eloquence," the swell's bolted! Poor Harry's gone! He's left the drag! There's not a dry eye all along the road, since his death! The landlords are quite chop-fallen, to think as how such a werry nice man should have been brushed off the box so soon. An't it a pity, Sir? my lord, I mean to say, your honor. But it's nothing new, when one comes to think on it! We are here this morning, and in Lunnon to-night: I should have said, we are here to-day, and gone to-morrow. The poor landladies are all in grief at his loss, and the bar, and chambermaids, you never see sick vork with them,they are all napping their bibs, like winking; that's vat they are; only on account of poor Harry's being such a genteel, well-behaved fellow. He vas a nonpariel in his vay! Yet the swell was a married man; but no matter for that, my lord: he always did vat vas right, and never did wrong, not to nobody! He stuck to his own wehicle, the Age! the bangup AGE; the out and out AGE! Although he was quite a young one: but the good ones always go first. Vasn't it a picture of a drag, Sir, my lord? What a turn out! a prince might not have been ashamed to have tooled her. Such tits too! and sich harness-my eyes-lord mayor's show was nothing to it.But, my lord, you must excuse me: I cannot go on any furder, it cuts me up so. I might as well bolt myself, now my best friend's laid up in lavender! Ah, sir, it was an unlucky day when Harry's toe napt it, for the Age. It vas a bad job for me too, Sir, my lord, I mean. I have been out of luck ever since." The cad made his bow, and was off like a shot, leaving

his lordship almost as much in the dark respecting the fate of poor Stevenson as if he had not been listening to the flash story of the chaffing helper.

The 'Swell Dragsman' was likewise a wellknown feature in the sporting world, and upon all the movements out of town, his Rattler was sure to be full, both inside and out on the road to a prize mill, with Cantabs, young sprigs of nobility, in training to become greater folks; and those sort of choice spirits who are always ready for a 'spree,' a 'lark,' or a ' turn up,' out of doors, to keep them from getting into more serious mischief at home. His book was equally filled for Epsom, Ascot races, &c.: indeed, his gay patrons were so anxious to give him a turn to witness every caper on the board' in life, likely to produce fun, afford amusement, or to hold out a chance to win a few of those screens for misfortunes,' his pals were never backwards in coming forwards,' to do honor to the Age! The king, it is true, might have spared a better man in society; and yet he would not have been missed half so much as the late Harry Stevenson! But, sorrow is dry!

6

In order as a 'set-off,' or, more properly speaking, to show the contrast between the above "Swell Dragsman" and a coachman horsemanship, we have been induced to of a more weighty description in the scale of quote, with great pleasure, from the facetious pen of TOMMY HOOD, the celebrated punster, the pathetic ballad of 'John Day,' which appears in his last Comic Annual,' recently published :

JOHN DAY-A Pathetic Ballad:

A Day after the fair-Old Proverb. JOHN DAY he was the biggest man

Of all the coachmen-kind,
With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.

The very horses knew his weight,
When he was in the rear,
And wished his box a Christmas-box,
To come but once a year.

Alas! against the shafts of love
What armour can avail ?
Soon Cupid sent an arrow through
His scarlet coat of mail.

The bar-maid of the Crown he loved,
From whom he never ranged,
For though he changed his horses there,
His love he never changed.

He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers;
And often, among twelve outsides,
Deemed no outside like hers.

One day as he was sitting down
Beside the porter-pump-
He came, and knelt with all his fat,
And made an offer plump.

Said she, my taste will never learn
To like so huge a man,

So I must beg you will come here
As little as you can.

But still he stoutly urged his suit,

With vows, and sighs, and tears,
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the DART for years!

In vain he wooed, in vain he sued,
The maid was cold and proud,
And sent him off to Coventry
While on the way to Strond.
He fretted all the way to Stroud,
And thence all back to town;
The course of love was never smooth,
So his went up and down.

At last her coldness made him pine
To merely bones and skin;
But still he loved like one resolved
To love through thick and thin.
Oh, Mary! view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled calf;
Though I have never had a wife,
I've lost my better half.

Alas, in vain he still assailed,

Her heart withstood the dint;
Though he carried sixteen stone,
He could not move a flint.

Worn out, at last, he made a vow
To break his being's link;
For he was so reduced in size,
At nothing he could shrink.

Now some will talk in water's praise,
And waste a deal of breath,

But John, though he drank nothing else,
He drank himself to death.

The cruel maid that caused his love
Found out the fatal close-
For, looking in the butt, she saw-
The butt-end of his woes.

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown,
But that is only talk-

For, after riding all his life,
His ghost objects to walk.

FREDERIC II. OF PRUSSIA-HIS ATTACHMENT TO DOGS.

Kings have their fancies like other folks,' 'Frederic's attachment to his dogs, which had been one of his earliest passions (observes his biographer, Lord Dover) continued unabated to the end of his life. The breed which he preferred was that of the Italian greyhound, of which he had always five or six in the room with him. Zimmerman describes them as placed on blue-satin chairs and couches, near the king's arm-chair; and says that, when Frederic, during his last illness, used to sit on his terrace at Sans Souci, in order to enjoy the sun, a chair was always placed by his side, which was occupied by one of his dogs. He fed them himself, took the greatest possible care of them when they were sick, and, when they died, buried them in the gardens at Sans Souci. The traveller may still see their tombs (flat stones, with the names of the dogs interred beneath engraved upon them) at each end of the terrace at Sans Souci, in front of the palace. The king was accustomed to pass his leisure mom rts in playing with them; and the room where he sat was strewed with leather balls, with which they amused themselves. As they were all much indulged, though there was

always one especial favorite, they used to tear the damask covers of the chairs in the king's apartment, and gnaw and otherwise injure the furniture. This he permitted without rebuke, and used only to say, 'My dogs destroy my chairs; but how can I help it? And if I was to have them mended to day, they would be torn again to-morrow; so I suppose I must bear with the inconvenience.-After all, a Marquise de Pompadour would cost me a great deal more, and would neither be as attached nor as faithful!'

'The most celebrated of the dogs of Frederic were Biche and Alcmena. Biche made the campaign of 1745 with him; and was with him when, one day, having advanced to reconnoitre the position of the enemy's troops, he was pursued by a party of Austrian hussars. He hid himself under a bridge, with Biche wrapped in the breast of his coat. The dog, though generally of a noisy and barking disposition, seemed aware of its master's danger, and remained quiet and hardly breathing, till the Austrians had passed over the bridge, and were at a distance. At the battle of Soor Biche was taken with the king's baggage, but was restored to her master. General Rothenbourg, who brought her, upon her return, into the king's room, found the monarch so entirely occupied in writing, that he did not look up when his favorite entered. The dog immediately jumped upon the table, and put her two front paws on the king's neck, who was moved to tears at this proof of her affec. tion. Alcmena was a favorite greyhound be longing to the King of Prussia, to which he was so much attached, that, at its death, for a day or two, he abandoned himself to his grief; and it was long before he would allow the corpse of the dog, although it had become putrid, to be taken from his apartment and buried.""

AFFECTION OF THE ARABIAN HORSE.

In that admirable and interesting work, The Library of Useful Knowledge,' the writer states there are three breeds of Arabian horses;--the Attechi, or inferior bread; the Kadischi, literally, horses of an unknown race; and the Kochlani, horses whose genealogy, according to the Arab account, is known for two thousand years.

We may not, perhaps, believe all that is told us of the Arabian. It has been remarked that there are, on the deserts where this horse traverses, no mile-stones to mark the distance, or watches to calculate the time; and the Bedouin is naturally given to exaggeration, and, most of all, when relating the prowess of the animal which he loves as dearly as his children yet it cannot be denied that, at the introduction of the Arabian into European stables, there was no other horse comparable to him.

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The Arab horse is as celebrated for his docility and good temper, as for his speed and courage. In that delightful book, "Bishop Heber's Narrative of a Journey through the Upper Provinces of India," the following interesting character is given of him. My morning rides are very pleasant. My horse is a nice, quiet, good-tempered little Arab, who is so fearless, that he goes, without starting, close to an elephant, and so gentle and docile, that he eats bread out of my hand, and has almost as much attachment and coaxing ways as a dog. This seems the general character of the Arab horses, to judge from what I have seen in this country. It is not the fiery dashing animal I had supposed, but with more rationality about him, and more apparent confidence in his rider, than the majority of English horses."

The kindness with which he is treated from a foal, gives him an affection for his master, a wish to please, a pride in exerting every energy in obedience to his commands, and, consequently, an apparent sagacity which is seldom seen in other breeds. The mare and her foal inhabit the same tent with the Bedouin and his children. The neck of the mare is often the pillow of the rider, and more frequently of the children, who are rolling about upon her and the foal: yet no accident ever occurs, and the animal acquires that friendship and love for man which occasional ill-treatment will not cause him for a moment to forget.

When the Arab falls from his mare, and is unable to rise, she will immediately stand still, and neigh until assistance arrives. If he lies down to sleep, as fatigue sometimes compels him, in the midst of the desert, she stands watchful over him, and neighs and rouses him if either man or beast approaches. An old Arab had a valuable mare that had carried him for fifteen years, in many a hard-fought battle, and many a rapid, weary march; at length, eighty years old, and unable longer to ride her, he gave her, and a scimitar that had been his father's, to his eldest son, and told him to appreciate their value, and never lie down to rest until he had rubbed them both as bright as a looking-glass. In the first skirmish in which the young man was engaged, he was killed, and the mare fell into the hands of the enemy. When the news reached the old man, he exclaimed that "life was no longer worth preserving, for he had lost both his son and his mare, and he grieved for one as much as the other;" and he immediately sickened and died.

Man, however, is an inconsistent being, The Arab who thus lives with, and loves his horses, regarding them as his most valuable treasure, sometimes treats them with a cruelty scarcely to be believed, and not at all to be justified. The severest treatment which the English race-horse endures is gentleness compared with the trial of the young Arabian. Probably the filly has never before been mounted; she is led out; her owner springs

on her back, and goads her over the sands and rocks of the desert, at full speed, for fifty or sixty miles, without one moment's respite. She is then forced, steaming and panting, into water deep enough for her to swim. If, immediately after this, she will eat as if nothing had occurred, her character is established, and she is acknowledged to be a genuine descendant of the Kochlani breed. The Arab is not conscious of the cruelty which he thus inflicts: it is an invariable custom; and custom will induce us to inflict many a pang on those whom, after all, we love.

The following anecdote of the attachment of an Arab to his mare has often been told, but it comes home to the bosom of every one possessed of common feeling. "The whole stock of an Arab of the desert consisted of a mare. The French consul offered to purchase her, in order to send her to his sovereign, Louis XIV. The Arab would have rejected the proposal at once with indignation and scorn; but he was miserably poor. He had no means of supplying his most urgent wants, or procuring the barest necessaries of life. Still he hesitated; -he had scarcely a rag to cover him—and his wife and children were starving. The sum offered was great,-it would provide him and his family with food for life. At length, and reluctantly, he consented. He brought the mare to the dwelling of the consul,-he dismounted, he stood leaning upon her;-he looked now at the gold, and then at his favorite; he sighed he wept. To whom is it,' said he, 'I am going to yield thee up? To Europeans, who will tie thee close,-who will beat thee,-who will render thee miserable. Return with me, my beauty, my jewel, and rejoice the hearts of my children.' As he pronounced the last words, he sprung upon her back, and was out of sight in a moment."

The next anecdote is scarcely less touching, and not so well known. Ibrahim, a poor, but worthy Arab, unable to pay a sum of money which he owed, was compelled to allow a merchant of Rama to become partner with him in a valuable mare. When the time came, he could not redeem his pledge to this man, and the mare was sold. Her pedigree could be traced, on the side of sire and dam, for full five hundred years. The price was three hundred pounds; an enormous sum in that country. Ibrahim went frequently to Rama to inquire after the mare: he would embrace her, wipe her eyes with his handkerchief,-rub her with his shirt sleeves,and give her a thousand benedictions during whole hours that he remained talking to her. 'My eyes!' would he say to her, my soul ! my heart! must I be so unfortunate as to have thee sold to so many masters, and not keep thee myself? I am poor, my antelope! I brought thee up in my dwelling, as my child. I did never beat nor chide thee; I caressed thee in the proudest manner. God preserve thee, my beloved! thou art beautiful, thou art sweet, thou art lovely! God defend thee from envious eyes!"

Sir Joan Malcolm gives two anecdotes to the same purpose, but of a more amusing na

ture.

.

"When the envoy, returning from his former mission, was encamped near Bagdad, an Arab rode a bright bay mare of extraordinary shape and beauty before his tent, until he attracted his attention. On being asked if he would sell her. What will you give me?' was the reply: 'That depends upon her age; I suppose she is past five?' Guess again,' said he. 'Four?' 'Look at her mouth,' said the Arab, with a smile. On examination she was found to be rising three. This, from her size and symmetry, greatly enhanced her value. The envoy said, 'I will give you fifty toman' (a coin nearly of the value of a pound sterling). A little more, if you please,' said the fellow, apparently entertained. Eighty. A hundred.' He shook his head and smiled. The offer at last came to two hundred tomans ! 'Well,' said the Arab, 'you need not tempt me further; -it is of no use. You are a rich elchee (nobleman). You have fine horses, camels, and mules, and, I am told, you have loads of silver and gold. Now,' added he, 'you want my mare; but you should not have her for all you have got.'

"An Arab sheick or chief, who lived within fifty miles of Bussorah, had a favorite breed of horses. He lost one of his best mares, and could not, for a long while, discover whether she was stolen or had strayed. Some time after, a young man of a different tribe, who had long wished to marry his daughter, but had always been rejected by the sheick, obtained the lady's consent and eloped with her. The sheick and his followers pursued, but the lover and his mistress, mounted on one horse, made a wonderful march, and escaped. The old chief swore that the fellow was either mounted upon the devil, or the favorite mare he had lost. After his return, he found the latter was the case; that the lover was the thief of his mare as well as his daughter; and that he stole the one to carry off the other. The chief was quite gratified to think he had not been beaten by a mare of another breed; and was easily reconciled to the young man, in order that he might recover the mare, which appeared an object about which he was more solicitous than about his daughter."

One of our own countrymen, the enterprising traveller, major Denham, affords us a pleasing instance of the attachment with which the docility and sagacity of the horse may inspire the owner. He thus relates the death of his favorite Arabian, in one of the most desert spots of Central Africa. His feelings needed no apology. We naturally honor the man in whom true sensibility and undaunted courage, exerted for useful purposes, were thus united.

"There are a few situations in a man's life in which losses of this nature are felt most keenly; and this was one of them. It was not grief, but it was s mething very nearly approaching

to it; and though I felt ashamed of the degree of derangement I suffered from it, yet it was several days before I could get over the loss. Let it, however, be remembered that the poor animal had been my support and comfort,nay, I may say, companion, through many a dreary day and night;-had endured both hunger and thirst in my service; and was so docile that he would stand still for hours, in the desert, while I slept between his legs, his body affording me the only shelter that could be obtained from the powerful influence of a noon-day sun,--he was yet the fleetest of the fleet, and ever foremost in the chase."

Our horses would fare badly on the scanty nourishment afforded the Arabian. The mare usually has but one or two meals in twentyfour hours. During the day she is tied to the door of the tent, ready for the Bedouin to spring, at a moment's warning, into the saddle; or she is turned out before the tent, ready saddled, the bridle merely taken off, and so trained that she gallops up immediately at her master's call. At night she receives a little water; and with her scanty provender of five or six pounds of barley or beans, and sometimes a little straw, she lies down, content, in the midst of her master's family. She can, however, endure great fatigue; she will travel fifty miles without stopping; she has been pushed, on emergency, one hundred and twenty miles, and, occasionally, neither she nor her rider has tasted food for three whole days.

To the Arabian, principally, England is indebted for her improved and now unrivalled breed of horses for the turf, the field, and the road.

ON THE USEFULNESS OF PUGILISM.

Of late years, it has been so much the cant of the puritanical part of society to run down the SPORTS and AMUSEMENTS of the people of England; and also, if possible, not only to reduce them in their manly spirit and character, but to change their good old habits and feelings into a strait-haired race of impostors and hypocrites. Perish the thought! We hope, nay we feel assured, that we shali never see the arrival of that day, when the TRUE COURAGE of Britons will be frittered down into mere dandyism, so conspicuous to "resent an injury," or "to forgive an insult" and which have rendered the British flag triumphant, both in our fleets and armies, all over the world.

The following opinion of that enlightened senator the late Right Hon. W. Windham, who so animatedly delivered his sentiments in parliament in favor of the sports and amusements of the people of England, is a complete answer to all the cant and humbug in opposition to it: "True courage," said Mr. Windham, "does not arise from mere boxing from the mere beating or being beaten,