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Where Pope unloads the boughs within his reach, The purple vine, blue plum, and blushing peach, I journey far.-You knew fat bards might tire, And, mounted, sent me forth, your trusty squirc. 'Twas on the day when city dames repair To take their weekly dose of Hyde Park air, When forth we trot: no carts the road infest, For still on Sundays country horses rest. (Except when they are used for chaises and other vehicles.)

Thy gardens, Kensington, we leave unseen,
Through Hammersmith jog on to Turnham Green;
That Turnham Green, which dainty pigeons fed,
But feeds no more; for Solomon is dead;

(Solomon was a breeder of pigeons ;)

Three dusty miles reach Brentford's tedious town, For dirty streets and white-legged chickens known." But Foote has blown the finest mockheroical trumpet in celebration of this district, in his famous banter upon the city-militia. The passage is very ludicrous ; so the reader shall have it as he goes in his coach for besides those who at present accompany ourselves, we hope these papers may be taken with them by some other readers by and by, who happen to go the same road.

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Major S. Oh! such marchings and countermarchings, from Brentford to Ealing, from Ealing to Acton, from Acton to Uxbridge; the dust flying-sun scorching-men sweating! Why there was our last expedition to Hounslow; that day's work carried off Major Molasses. Bunhill-fields never saw a braver commander. He was an irreparable loss to the service.

Sir J. How came that about?

Major S. Why, it was partly the Major's own fault; I advised him to pull off his spurs before he went upon action; but he was resolute, and would not be ruled.

Sir J. Spirit; zeal for the service.

Major S. Doubtless. But to proceed: in order to get our men in good spirits, we were quartered at Thistleworth the evening before. At day-break, our regiment formed at Hounslow town's end, as it might be about here. The major made a fine disposition : on we marched, the men all in high spirits, to attack the gibbet where Gardel is hanging; but turning down a narrow lane to the left, as it might be about there, in order to possess a pig-sty, that we might take the gallows in flank, and, at all events, secure a retreat, who should come by but a drove of fat oxen from Smithfield! The drums beat in the front, the dogs barked in the rear, the oxen set up a gallop; on they came thundering upon us, broke through our ranks in an instant, and threw the whole corps into confusion.

Sir J. Terrible!

Major S. The major's horse took to his heels; away he scoured o'er the heath. That gallant commander stuck both his spurs into his flank, and, for some time, held by his mane; but in crossing a ditch, the horse threw up his head, gave the major a douse in the chops, and plumped him into a gravel-pit, just by the powder-mills.

Sir J. Dreadful!

Major S. Whether from the fall or the fright, the major moved off in a month. Indeed, it was an unfortunate day for us all.

Sir J. As how?

Major S. Why, as Captain Cucumber, Lieut. Pattypan, Ensign Tripe, and myself, were returning to town in the Turnham Green stage, we were stopped near the Hammersmith turnpike, and robbed and stripped by a single footpad."

This is very laughable; but whatever may be the airs occasionally given themselves by civic heroes, their actual service in the field has proved itself to be no joke; as poor Charles the First found to his cost, and in this very spot. In an encounter with the London forces, Prince Rupert left 800 cavaliers dead upon Turnham Green; and in the subsequent engagement at Brentford, the same gentlemen, according to a pamphlet issued by the Puritans, said "God damn them! the devil was in their powder."* We are the more willing to vindicate the dignity of these our warlike suburbs, because, to "own the soft impeachment," we "ourself," when time was, have been a gallant volunteer, doing dreadful "field-day" in the same neighbourhood, and tearing loaves out of bakers' baskets, and spiggots out of the barrels in beer-cellars, in the

"A true relation of the battail at Brentford, the 12th of November, between his Majesty's army and the Parliament army; and how the cavaliers swore God damn them, the devil was in their powder." Title of a pamphlet in the British Museum, mentioned by Lysons, in his "Environs of London." We have forgotten to refer to the page and volume.

very rage of hunger and thirst, and lawless campaigning.

Between Brentford and Ealing, Lysons in forms us, that elephants' bones and similar phenomena have been dug up,-evidences of a former state of climate in this quarter of the world, when our planet was toasting a different cheek at the sun.

The celebrated engagement between the King's and Parliament's forces took place at the south-west of Brentford, near Sion House. A Sunday intervened; and it is said, that the quantity of "victuals" sent out from London, to feed the worthy city belligerents, was im

mense.

This town takes its name from the little river Brent, which helps to give such a pretty look to the entrance of the village of Hendon. Fuller speaks of a gardener living here at the beginning of the seventeenth century, who, at seventy-six years of age, could afford, in the course of three days, to lose more than sixty ounces of blood, to cure him of an inflammation of the lungs; which it did-"a most eminent instance," adds he, "against those who endeavour to prove the decay of the world, because men cannot spare so much by bloodletting as in former ages."

Sion House was originally a Bridgetine convent, in which monks and nuns lived under the same roof, though in separate cloisters. At the dissolution of the monasteries, by Henry the Eighth, it was very ill spoken of; not the less perhaps for being accused of siding with his antagonist, the Maid of Kent. Katharine Howard was confined in this house before her execution. Queen Mary made Sir Henry Sidney (Sir Philip's father) keeper of the Parks and Woods; and after being again monasticized, and again dissolved, Elizabeth gave the estate to the Northumberland family, with whom it has since remained. The Saccharissa of Waller (Dorothy Sidney, a granddaughter of Henry Earl of Northumberland,)

was born there.

Osterley House, the seat of the Jerseys, a little further on, upon the other side of the way, was built by the celebrated merchant, Sir Thomas Gresham. It was subsequently occupied by Sir Edward Coke, by the Desmond family, and by Sir William Waller, the Parliamentary general; and at the beginning of the last century, became the property of Sir Fran

cis Child, the banker, whose descendants brought it, by marriage, into the Jersey family. Two curious stories are told of it; one by Fuller in his 'Worthies,' the other in the Strafford Letters. The latter we copy from Lysons, who relates them both; but we prefer hearing good, old, quaint, eloquent Fuller speak for himself.

"Osterley House," says he, "now Sir William Waller's, must not be forgotten, built in

a park by Sir Thomas Gresham, who here magnificently entertained and lodged Queen Elizabeth. Her Majesty found fault with the court of this house as too great, affirming, 'that it would appear more handsome, if divided with a wall in the middle.'

"What doth Sir Thomas, but in the nighttime sends for workmen to London (money commands all things,) who so speedily and silently apply their business, that the next morning discovered that court double, which the night had left single before. It is questionable whether the Queen next day was more contented with the conformity to her fancy, or more pleased with the surprise and sudden performance thereof; whilst her courtiers disported themselves with their several expressions, some avowing it was no wonder he could so soon change a building who could build a 'Change; others (reflecting on some known differences in this Knight's family) affirmed, that any house is easier divided than united.'"*

The other story is thus quoted by Lysons Desmond (says Mr. Garrard, writing to Lord from the letters above-mentioned :-" Young Wentworth), who married one of the co-heirs of Sir Michael Stanhope, came one morning to York House, where his wife had long lived with the Duchess during his two years' abhalf undressed, much against her will, into a sence beyond the seas, and hurried her away, coach, and so carried her away into Leicestershire. At Brickhill he lodged, where she, in the night, put herself into milkmaid's clothes, and had likely to make her escape, but was discovered. Madam Christian, whom your Lordship knows, said, that my Lord of Desmond was the first that ever she heard of that ran away with his own wife."

The case has often happened, where money was concerned. The Countess afterwards bore him a numerous family. came to Osterley Park with her husband, and

It should have been mentioned, in justice to Brentford, that we did not observe the "dirty street" in it mentioned by Gay. At least, the High-street looked smart and comfortable. All the thoroughfares in towns near London, and indeed almost all that we saw of any consequence in our journey, have wonderfully plucked up, and smugged themselves of late

years.

The communication which is now grown so general between all parts of the country, renders all of them, in some measure, like neighbours; and what is done by one town, for the sake of neatness and ascendancy, gets done by another. You see a regular paveing library, milliner's, watchmaker's, &c.; and ment, smart London-looking shops, a circulatthe coach halts at a fine-looking inn, with large coach-yard, door, and other appurtenances, of

* Worthies of England,' vol. ii. 1811, p. 45.

the newest town fashion; out of which comes a smart waiter or landlord, no more anxious or civil in his countenance than the waiter of a well-to-do inn ought to be, and who does not seem to care whether you lunch or not. Meanwhile "Miss," if she is pretty or well-dressed, gives a look out at the threshold, with an eye still more indifferent, and glancing everywhere but at the faces she is thinking of. Passengers descend, to stretch their legs for ten minutes, the inside and out reconnoitring one another; the " young woman" remains by her bundle; the gentleman in the travelling-cap longs to know where the gentleman in the shootingjacket is going, but not having dined yet, has not acquired confidence enough to speak; and the invalid gentleman eats a biscuit,—or extremely declines it.

LXV.-A JOURNEY BY COACH.

(FRAGMENT CONCLUDED.)

Coach-horses-What do they think of the Coach?Hounslow, its Thieves and Gunpowder-Desideratum in Fighting-The Wheat of Ileston-Singular fertility of Berkshire and Buckinghamshire in illustrious Memories -Extinction of the Highwayman.

WHEN a coach sets off again from its stoppage at an inn-door, there is a sense of freshness and re-commencement; the inside passengers settle themselves in their corners, or interchange legs, or take a turn on the outside; the outside adjust themselves to their seats and their bits of footing; the young woman looks, for the ninety-ninth time, to her box; the coachman is indifferent and scientific; he has the ease of power in his face; he shakes the reins; throws out a curve or so of knowing whip, as an angler does his line; and the horses begin to ply their never-ending jog. A horse's hind-leg on the road, to any eye looking down upon it, seems as if it would jaunt on for ever; the muscle works in the thigh; the mane at the same time dances a little bit; the hockjoint looks intensely angular, and not to be hit (it is horrible to think of wounding it); the hoof bites into the earth; wheels and legs seem made to work together like machinery; and on go the two patient creatures, they know not why nor whither, chewing the unsatisfactory bit, wondering (if they wonder at all) why they may not hold their heads down, and have tails longer than five inches; and occasionally giving one another's noses a consolatory caress. It is curious to see sometimes how this affection seems to be all on one side. One of the horses goes dumbly talking, as it were, to the other, and giving proofs of the pleasure and comfort it takes in its society; while the other, making no sort of acknowledgment, keeps the "even tenor of its way," turning neither to the right nor left, nor condescending to give or

receive the least evidences of the possibility of a satisfaction. It seems to say, "You may be as amiable and patient as you please ;-for my part, I am resolved to be a mere piece of the machinery, and to give these fellows behind us no reason whatsoever to suppose that I make any sentimental compromise with their usurpations over us.”

Horses in a coach must certainly be the most patient, or the most indifferent, or the most unthinking of animals. The mule seems to have an opinion of his own; he is not to be driven so easily. The dog (till the new act) passed a horrible, unsatisfied time of it under the butcher's or baker's go-cart. Harnessed elephants would be inconvenient. They would be for re-adjusting their buckles, and making inquiries with their trunks into the behaviour of the postilion. They might, to be sure, help with the other trunks, and perform the part of half horse, half hostler. The llama of Peru has inconvenient tricks, if you ill-use him; and so has the camel. But the horse, when once he is ground well into the road, seems to give up having any sort of mind of his own-that is to say, if he ever had any, except what his animal spirits made to be mistaken for it; for the breeding of horses is such in England, that, generally speaking, when they are not all blood and fire, they seem nothing but stupid acquiescence, without will, without curiosity, without the power of being roused into resistance, except, poor souls! when their last hour is come, and non-resistance itself can go no further, but lies down to die. We dock their tails, to subject them to the very flies; fasten their heads back, to hinder them from seeing their path; and put blinkers at their eyes, for fear of their getting used to the phenomena of the carriage and wheels behind them. What must they think (if they think at all) of the eternal mystery thus tied to their bodies, and rattling and lumbering at their heels?—of the load thus fastened to them day by day, going the same road for no earthly object (intelligible to the horse capacity), and every now and then depositing, and taking up, other animals who walk on their hind-legs, and occasionally come and stroke their noses, kick their bellies, and gift them with iron shoes?

Well, circumstances drive us, as we drive the horses, perhaps with as many smiling remarks on the part of other beings, at our thinking as little of the matter :-so we must be moving on.

Hounslow (the stage we have now come to) is a good place for setting us upon reflections on horse and man, not merely by reason of the number of accommodations for both those travellers, but because of its celebrity at various times for its horse-races, its highwaymen, and its powder-mills. The series of heaths here from Hounslow to Bagshot, are the scenes of the favourite robberies and stage-coach alarms

of the last century. The novels and Newgate Calendars are full of them. Nor is the district without its historical minacities. Here poor James the Second got up a camp to resist his subjects with, and must needs take his Queen and his daughter Anne to dine there, to let them see how victorious he was going to be; nay, he wrote to the Prince of Orange upon the fineness of his troops; which the latter accordingly came over to congratulate him upon, as William the Third.

"Am I to have the honour of taking the air with you, sir, this evening upon the heath?" says one of the heroes of the 'Beggar's Opera,' to their noble Captain Mac-HEATH; who derived his title, observe, from that ground of his exploits :-"I drink a dram now and then with the stage-coachmen, in the way of friendship and intelligence; and I know that about this time there will be passengers upon the western road who are worth speaking with."

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And then follows a generous conversation about honour and fidelity, with certain glimpses of the interior of their cabinet policy; and the meeting concludes, instead of a ministerial dinner, with that glorious song, "Let us take the road," the music of which is justly "borrowed for the occasion," like a crown-jewel, from Handel's "March in Scipio." We dare confidently appeal to any ingenuous reader, who has heard it sung, and who has seen those great irregular spirits" in their exaltation and ragged coats, passing by their leader with step and chorus, and taking their hats off, one by one, to his own elegantly lifted beaver, whether there is much difference, if any, between those mutual acknowledgments of energy and a great purpose, and others which take place on more public occasions. For our parts, we confess, as Sir Philip Sydney did of the ballad of " Chevy Chace," that we never hear it but we feel our "heart moved as with the sound of a trumpet ;" and it raised a late noble lord twenty-fold in our opinion-nay, let us see that he had a truly "statesman-like” view of things, and an heroical cast in his character, when we heard that he was a great admirer of this song and of the whole opera. We have been told that he not only applauded it in public, but would get ladies to play it to him on the piano-forte, and hum over the airs himself with an exquisite superiority to his incompetency*.

*Lord Castlereagh. We forget who told us the anecdote, and are not in the way of ascertaining the truth of it; but we have heard other stories of his good nature, that render it likely. His lordship, like so many other statesmen of all parties, was the victim of a perplexed state of society, which seems of necessity to divide a man into two contradictory beings,-the public and the private; and, unfortunately, he did not see that this state was a transitory one, and not the inevitable condition of humanity. It is not likely indeed that he would refine upon this speculation in ordinary, or perhaps think of it at all. He was too busy, and, as it appeared to him, too successful. But there is no knowing how much thought and wonder crowded into his brain before he died, and

Hounslow Heath is not a place which the old gentleman in the play would like to live in, who made such a fearful construction of a metaphor in a letter, and was always fancying that he and his were "all to be blown up." A very serious blowing up does in fact occasionally take place here, strewing the limbs and heads of the manufacturers of gunpowder about the place, as if in rebuke of their trade. It is a pity that science does not hasten that most blessed of all its discoveries, which was talked of the other day, and which is to settle any two contending armies in ten minutes, by blowing them respectively to atoms! They have only to meet, it seems, and give the word, and at the first explosion they are abolishedthat is to say, provided one of them does not contrive to speak first :-so that war would be reduced to a race for the first word, and the most precipitate speaker be the conqueror crowned with laurel. In a little while, it is clear that there would be no war at all; and then mankind, out of pure unheroical necessity, would be forced to be reasonable in their disputes, and let common sense be the arbiter. At present the grand thing is to say, "You lie," and "You lie," and then to fall pell-mell together by the ears, and be the death of thousands of your fellow-creatures, to the sound of drum and trumpet. There is something fine in this undoubtedly, especially for those who have to pay for it, or who are burnt, maimed, slaughtered, or sent to the hospital, in the process. But somehow it puts the very conquerors upon grave faces, and makes them feel like slaves to an evil thing, and keeps up the belief in the "vale of tears ;" and people in their senses and cool moments prefer the idea of a healthy condition of humanity, and a game at cricket on a green. But rail-roads will be the peace-makers.

Hounslow Heath is to the left of our road :let us give a glance to the right, and refresh ourselves with thinking of that peaceful agricultural district stretching from this parish to Harrow-on-the-Hill, and famous for the finest wheat in England. Queen Elizabeth had her bread from it. Fuller has recorded one end of it in his prose, and Drayton the other in his poetry.

"The best (wheat) in England," says Fuller, "groweth in the vale lying south of Harrowon-the-Hill, nigh Hesson (Heston, the parish in which Hounslow lies), where Providence for the present hath fixed my habitation; so that the King's bread was formerly made of the fine flower thereof. Hence it was that Queen Elizabeth received no composition from the found him unprepared to entertain them. Peace to his memory and his mistakes, and to those of all of us! In spite of his errors, he had something noble in his nature, as well as in his countenance. We shall never thoroughly know how to master the circumstances that make us what we are, till we learn to leave off fighting with, and reproaching one another.

villages thereabouts, but took her wheate in kinde, for her own pastry and bakehouse*." "As Coln came on along, and chanced to cast her eye

cation, &c., have extinguished him. He is as completely abolished as the wolves. No more can he swagger and bully, and call himself

Upon that neighbouring hill where Harrow stands so high, Captain, and seduce inn-keepers' daughters,

She Peryvale perceived, prank'd up with wreaths of wheat, And with exulting terms thus glorying in her seat:

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Why should not I be coy, and of my beauties nice, Since this my goodly grain is held of highest price? No manchet can so well the courtly palate please, As that made of the meal fetch'd from my fertile leas;""&c. Drayton's Polyolbion, Song XIV.

Hounslow, whatever be its reputation, is in a truly glorious neighbourhood. Draw a circle of a few miles round Windsor, and you have Cowley at Chertsey, Pope at Twickenham and at Windsor Forest, the Earl of Surrey in the Castle, Gray at Stoke Pogeis and at Eton, Milton at Horton, and Magna Charta at Runnymede. Buckinghamshire and Berkshire (with the exception of London) comprise perhaps the most illustrious district in England, unless Shakspeare alone raises Warwickshire above them; and the road in this quarter leads even to him, besides visiting Chaucer by the way. But Chaucer is also to be found in Berkshire, at Donnington Castle; Spenser in Buckinghamshire, at Whaddon, with his friend Lord Grey, to whom he was secretary; Shakspeare himself (as far as one of his most living creations is concerned) at Windsor, with Falstaff and the Merry Wives; Milton at Horton aforesaid, where he passed much of his youth; and, besides others before mentioned, we have Hampden at Hampden, Burke and Waller at Beaconsfield, Hooker at Drayton-Beauchamp, Cowper at Olney, Denham at Cooper's Hill, Hales, Wotton, and half the education of England, at Eton, the whole weight of Windsor Castle and its memories, and at Wantage we have Alfred the Great, a world of a man in himself. Doubtless there are more honours for the two counties; but we happen to be writing without the first volume of Fuller, and these are all we can recollect. They include three out of the four great poets of England, as regards residence of some duration—a thing that can be said of no other district of equal length, the metropolis excepted; and it is curious, that within a segment of it the very names of the towns and villages seem resolved to be literary and renowned, comprising Denham, Drayton, Cowley, Milton, Hampden, and Penn. We are mistaken if we have not seen a stage-coach enter London with three of these names upon its panel,-we think Denham, Drayton, and Cowley.

We have omitted to observe how completely the Macheath order of highwaymen has gone out, he who used to be mounted on horseback, and stop coaches, and put half-a-dozen people in fear of their lives. Guards, rapidity of driving, and other facilities of self-defence, the publicity of the roads, quickness of communi

*Worthies of England,' vol. ii., p. 34,

and be hung like a man of spirit. He is a sneaker now round the gaming-tables; or rides on the coach which he used to stop, and filches bankers' conveyances.

[These articles were cut short by the stoppage of the Journal in which they appeared.]

LXVI. INEXHAUSTIBILITY OF THE SUBJECT OF CHRISTMAS. So many things have been said of late years there is no saying more. about Christmas, that it is supposed by some Oh they of little faith! What? do they suppose that everything has been said that can be said, about any one Christmas thing?

About beef, for instance?
About plum-pudding?
About mince-pie ?
About holly?
About ivy?

About rosemary?

About misletoe? (Good God! what an immense number of things remain to be said about misletoe?)

About Christmas-eve?
About hunt-the-slipper?
About hot-cockles?

About blind-man's-buff?

About shoeing the wild-mare?
About thread-the-needle ?

About he-can-do-little-that-can't-do-this?
About puss-in-the-corner?
About snap-dragon?
About forfeits?

About Miss Smith ?
About the bell-man ?
About the waits ?
About chilblains?
About carols?
About the fire?
About the block on it?
About school-boys?
About their mothers?
About Christmas-boxes?
About turkeys?
About Hogmany?
About goose-pie ?
About mumming?

About saluting the apple-trees?
About brawn?

About plum-porridge?
About hobby-horse?
About hoppings?
About wakes?
About "Feed-the-dove?"
About hackins?
About yule-doughs?
About going-a-gooding?
About loaf-stealing ?

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