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believe,-no mean man, after all, in his way) may stand by the side of the illustrious biographer. Next to ancient causes, to the inevitable progress of events, and to the practical part of Christianity (which persons, the most accused of irreligion, have preserved like a glorious infant, through ages of blood and fire) the kindliness of modern philogophy is more immediately owing to the great national writers of Europe, in whose schools we have all beer children :-- Voltaire in France, and Shakspeare in England. Shaksprare, in his time, obliquely pleaded the cause of the Jew, and got him set on a common level with humanity. The Jew has since been not only allowed to be human, but some have undertaken to shew him as the best good Christian though he knows it not.” We shall not dispute the title with him, nor with the other worshippers of Mammon, who force him to the same shrine. We allow, as things go in that quarter, that the Jew is as great a Christian as his neighbour, and his neighbour as great a Jew as he. There is neither love nor money lost between them. But at all events, the Jew is a man; and with Shakspeare's assistance, the time has arrived, when we can afford to acknowledge the horse for a fellow-creature and treat him as one. We may say for him, upon precisely the same grounds and to the same purpose, as Shakspeare said for the Isrealite, “ Hath not a horse organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is Oh—but some are always at hand to cry out,-it would be effeminate to think too much of these things !-Alas! we have no notion of asking the gentlemen to think too much of any thing. If they will think at all, it will be a great gain. As to effeminacy (if we must use that ungallant and partial word, for want of a better) it is cruelty that is effeminate. It is selfishness that is effeminate. Any thing is effeminate, which would get an excitement, or save a proper and manly trouble, at the undue ex. pense of another. How does the case stand theu between those who ill treat their horses, and those who spare them?

To return to the coach. Imagine a fine coach and pair, which are standing at the door of a house, in all the pride of their sleek strength and beauty, converted into what they may both really become, a hackney and its old shamblers. Such is one of the meditations of the phi. losophic eighteenpenny rider. A hackney-coach has often the arms of nobility on it. As we are going to get into it, we çatch a glimpse of the faded lustre of an earl's or marquis's coronet, and think how many light or proud hearts have ascended those now rickety steps. In this coach perhaps an elderly lady once rode to her wedding, a blooming apd blushing girl. Her mother and sister were on each side of her ; the bridegroom opposite in a blossom-coloured coat. They talk of every thing in the world, of which they are not thinking. The sister was never prouder of her. The mother with difficulty represses her own pride and tears. The bride, thiņking he is looking at her, casts down her eyes, pensive in her joy. The bridegroom is at once the proudest, and the humblest, and the happiest man in the world. For

parts, we sit in a corner, and are in love with the sister. We

dream she is going to speak to us in answer to some indifferent goes tion, when a hoarse voice comes in at the front window, and says " Whereabouts, Sir ?"

And grief has consecrated thee, thou reverend dilapidation, as well joy! Thou hast carried unwilling as well as willing hearts, hearts, that have thought the slowest of thy pacés too fast; faces, that have sat back in a corner of thee, to hide their tears from the very tiiouglit of being seen. In thee, the destitute have been taken to the poor.' house, and the wounded and sick to the hospital; and maný an ár has been round many' an insensible waist. Into thee, the friend or the lover has hurried, iu a passion of tears, to lament his loss. In thee, he has hastened to console the dying or the wretched. Iri thee, the father' or mother, or the older kinswoman, more patient in her years, has taken the little child to the grave, like a human jewel that must be parted with.

But joy appears in thee again, like the look-in of the sütishine. Jf the lover has gone in thee unwillingly, he has also gone willingly. How many friends hast thou not carried to merry-meetings! How many young parties to the play! How many children, whose faces thou hast turned in an instant from the extremity of lachrymośe wees riness to that of staring delight! Thou hast contained as many différent passions in thee as a human heart: and for the sake of the human heart, old body, thou art venerable. Thou shalt be as respectable as a reduced old gentleman, whose very slovenliness iš pathetic. Tlinu. shalt be made gay, as he is over a younger and richer table, and thou shalt be still more touching for the gaiety.

We wish the hackney-coachman were as interesting á máchlitte als either his coach or horses : but it must be owned, that of all thic driring species, he is the least agreeable specimeri. This is partly tv be attributed to the life which has most probably put him into his situation; partly to his want of outside passengers to cultivate his gentility; and partly, to the disputable nature of his fare, which always leads him to be lying and cheating. The waterman of the stand, who beats him if possible in sordidness of appcarance, is more respectable. Ile is less of a vagabond, and cannot cheat you. Nor is the hackirey. coachmen only disagreeable in himself, but like Falstaff reversed, the cause of disagreeableness in others; fór he sets people upon disputibg with him in pettiness and ill-temper. Ne induces the mercenary to be violent, and the violent to seem 'mercenarý. A man whom yod took for a pleasant laughing fellow, shall all of a sudden put on air irritable look of calculation, and row that he will be charged with it constable rather than pay thé sixpence. Even fáir woman shall waive her all-conquering softness, and sound a shrill trumpet la reprobación of the extortionate charioteer, who, if she were a nian she says, she would expose. Being a woman then, lét her not expose herself. Oh—but it is intolerable to be so imposed upon! Let the lady then get a pocket-book, if she must, with the hackney-coach fates in it; or a pain in the legs, rather than the temper; or above all, let her get wiser, and have an understaudiiig that can disperise with the good opiuion of hackuey-coachmän. Does she think that her rosy lips

We may say

believe, -no mean man, after all, in his way) may stand by the side of the illustrious biographer. Next to ancient causes, to the inevitable progress of events, and to the practical part of Christianity (which persons, the most accused of irreligion, have preserved like a glorious infant, through ages of blood and fire) the kindliness of modern philo- , sophy is more immediately owing to the great national writers of Europe, in whose schools we have all beer children:-to Voltaire in France, and Shakspeare in England. Shakspeare, in his time, obliquely pleaded the cause of the Jew, and got him set on a common level with humanity. The Jew has since been not only allowed to be human, but some have undertaken to shéw him as the best good Christian though he knows it not.” We shall not dispute the title with him, nor with the other worshippers of Mammon, who force him to the same shrine. We allow, as things go in that quarter, that the Jew is as great a Christian as his neighbour, and his neighbour as great a Jew as he. There is neither love or money lost between them. But at all events, the Jew is a man; and with Shakspeare's assistance, the time has arrived, when we can afford to acknowledge the horse for a fellow-creature and treat him as one.

for him, upon precisely the same grounds and to the same purpose, as Shakspeare said for the Isrealite, “ Hath not a horse organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is ?" Oh-but some are always at hand to cry out,-it would be effeminate to think too much of these things !-Alas! we have no notion of asking the gentlemen to think too much of any thing. If they will think at all, it will be a great gain. As to effeminacy (if we must use that ungallant and partial word, for want of a better) it is cruelty that is effeminate. It is selfishness that is effeminate. Any thing is effeminate, which would get an excitement, or save a proper and manly trouble, at the undue expense of another. How does the case stand theu between those who ill treat their horses, and those who spare them?

To return to the coach. Imagine a fine coach and pair, which are standing at the door of a house, in all the pride of their sleek strength and beauty, converted into what they may both really become, a hackney and its old shamblers., Such is one of the meditations of the philosophic eighteenpenoy rider. A hackney-coach has often the arms of nobility on it. As we are going to get into it, we catch a glimpse of the faded lustre of an earl's or marquis's coronet, and think how many light or proud hearts have ascended those now rickety steps. In this coach perhaps an elderly lady once rode to her wedding, a blooming and blushing girl. Her mother and sister were on each side of her the bridegroom opposite in a blossom-coloured coat. They talk of every thing in the world, of which they are not thinking. The sister was never prouder of her. The mother with difficulty represses her own pride and tears. The bride, thinking he is looking at her, casts down her eyes, pensive in her joy. The bridegroom is at once the proudest, and the humblest, and the happiest man in the world. For our parts, we sit in a corner, and are in love with the sister. Wo

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dream she is going to speak to us in answer to some indifferent doestion, when a hoarse voiće comes is at the front window, and says “ Whereabouts, Sir ?"

And grief has consecrated thee, thou reverend dilapidation, as well joy! Thou hast carried unwilling as well as willing tieaits ; hearts, that have thought the slowest of thy paces too fast; faces, that have sat back in a corner of thee, to hide their tears from the very tliought of being seen. In thee, the destitute have been taken to the poorhouse, and the wounded and sick to the hospital; alid maný án áron has been round many an insensible waist. Into ther, the friend or the lover Has hurried, iu a passion of tears, to lament his loss. In thee, ho has hastened to console the dying or the wretched. In thee, the father' or mother, or the older kinswoman, more patient in her years, has taken the little child to the grave, like a human jewel that niust be parted with

But joy appears in thee again, like the look-in of the sunshine, Jf the lover has gone in thee unwillingly, he has alsó gone willingly. How many friends hast thou not carried to merry-meetings! How many young parties to the play! How many children, whose face's thou hast turned in an instant from the extremity of lachrymośe weariness to that of staring delight! Thou hast contained as many différent passions in thee as a human heart: and for the sake of the human heart, old body, thou art venerable. Thou shalt be as respectable as a reduced old gentleman, whose very slovenliness is pathetic. Thiou shalt be made gay, as he is over a younger and richer table, and thou shalt be still more touching for the gaiety.

We wish the hackney-coachman were as interesting a machine as either his coach or horses : but it must be owned, that of all the driring species, he is the least agreeable specimeni. This is partly to be attributed to the life which has most probably put him into his situation; partly to his want of outside passengers to cultivate his gentility, and partly, to the disputable nature of his faré, which always leads him to be lying and cheating. The waterinan of the stand, whó beats him if possible in sordidness of appearance, is more respectable. Ile is less of a vagabond, and cannot cheát you. Nor is the hacktiey: coachmen only disagreeable in himself, but like Falstaff reversed, the cause of disagreeableness in others; for he sets people upon disputing with him in pettiness and ill-temper. le induces the mercenary to be violent, and the violent to scem mercenarý. A man whom yod took for a pleasant laughing fellow, shall all of a sudden put on air irritable look of calculation, and row that he will be charged with a constable rather than pay thé sixpence. Even fáir woman shall waive her all-conquering softness, and sound a shrill trumpet la reprobación of the extortionate charioteer, who, if she were a nan she says, she would expose, Being a womäï then, let her not expose herself. Oh-but it is intolerable to be so imposed upon! Let the lady then get a pocket-book, if she must, with the hackney-coach fates in it; or a pain in the legs, rather than the temper'; or above all

, let her get wiser, and have an understavding that can dispense with the good opiuion of hačkuej-coachman. Dues shë třink that her rosy lips

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were made to grow pale about two and sixpence? or that the cut of. them'will ever be like her cousin Fanny's, if she goes on ?-(Sce No. 11, page 88.)

The stage-coachman likes the boys on the road, because he knows they admire him. The hackney-coachman knows thať they cannot admire him, and that they can get up behind his coach; which makes him very savage. The cry of “cut behind,” from the malicious urchins on the pavement, wounds at once his self-love and his interest. He would not mind over-loading his master's horses for another sixpence ; but to do it for nothiug, is what shocks his humanity. lle hates the boy for imposing upon him, and the boys for reminding him that he has been imposed upon; and he would willingly twinge the cheeks of all nine. The cut of his whip orer the coach is

very malignant. He has a constant eye to the road behind him. He has also an eye to what may be left in the coach. - lle will undertake to search the straw for you, and miss the half-crowu on purpose. Ile speculates on what he may get above his fare, according to your manners or company; and knows how much to ask, for driving faster or slower than usual. He does not like wet-weather so much as people suppose; for he says, it rots both his ħorses and harness, and he takes parties out of town when the weather, is five; which produces good payments in a lumpLovers, late super-eaters, and girls going home from boarding-school, are his best pay. 'He has a rascally air of remonstrance, when you dispute half the overcharge; and according to the teinper he is in, begs you to consider his bread, hopes you will not make such a fuss about a trifle, or tells you“ may iake his number, or sịt in the coach all night.

LADY. There, Sir! INDICATOR (looking all about him.) Where, Ma’am? LADY. The coachman, Sir! INDIC. Oh, pray, Madam, don't trouble yourself. Leave the gentleman alone with him. Do you continue to be delightful at a little distance.

A great number of ludicrous adventures must have taken place, in which hackney-coaches were concerned. The story of the celebrated Ilarlequin, Lunn, who secretly pitched himself out of one into a tavern window, and when the coachman was about to submit to the loss of his fare, astonished him by calling out again from the inside, is too well known for repetition. There is one of Swift, not perhaps so com mon. He was going, one dark, evening, to dine with some great man, and was accompanied with some other clergyman, to whom he gave their cue. They were all in their canonicals. When they arrive at the house, the coachman opens the door, and lets down the steps, Down steps the Dean, very reverendly in his black robes: after him, comes another personage, equally black and dignified : then another then, a fourth. The coachman, who recollects taking up no greater number, is about to put up the steps, when another clergyman descends. After giving way to this other, he proceeds with great confidence to toss them up, when lo! another comes. Well, there cannot, he thinks, be well more than six. ,,Ile is mistaken. Downi conies a

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