Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/516

26, 1860.] amount, for which he is distinctly responsible by the laws of his country.

Whilst the vans, and the omnibuses, and the open carriages with four horses, and accurately fitting hampers tied on behind, and the still more technical drags with the young men in blue veils, give a good account of themselves—how they are all beaten by a vehicle which can only be described as a tray upon wheels, drawn by a ragged pony, and guided by a gentleman, I fear, in the coster-mongering line, who stands up to his work like a Greek charioteer, and with his equipage flashes like a meteor through the crowd of men, carriages, and horses, evading even the stout policeman who had supposed himself equal to the task of arresting the progress of that impetuous charioteer.

It has been a late spring, and the almond trees are not yet out of blossom, whilst the fragrant lilacs, shaken by the gentle breeze from the south-west, give out their grateful perfume in the sunshine, and the roads are well watered, and everybody has a good-humoured word or joke for everybody. How impossible it seems to pass the phaeton, drawn by two horses, with the neat postilion, which contains the five Jewish ladies. Whether the procession, for it has come to be a procession, arrives at a stand-still, or whether, taking advantage of an opening, you rush in madly for a start, when the pace is checked you still find yourself opposite that phaeton with its bevy of Hebrew maidens.

We have reached Clapham at last, and before us there is a drag. That drag contains seven passengers. One sits on the box—he is a distinguished foreigner with magnificent facial hair. Inside there is one gentleman equally favoured by Nature under the head of whiskers—but they are of native growth and of bright red. The other five passengers, I grieve to say, are Messrs. Toddle and Ball, Mr. Jonathan Larke, Mr. F. Ball, and Mr. C. Hicks. The foreign gentleman is Count Razemoffski. The military man is Captain Horace O’Rourke, an officer who had the honour of serving some years back in the Enniskillens. The nearer they approached to Clapham, the more a damp seemed to fall upon the spirits of the British elders, and the more they would insist upon sitting with their backs to one particular side of the road. The gloomier they became, the more highly ran the spirits of the Count and the Captain, in whom a spirit of chivalric courtesy to the fair seemed to outrun discretion. As is well known to all misguided men who travel on that particular day on the road to Epsom, there is a period during which the procession passes through rows of houses where every window seems to contain a mournful and sorrowing face. That is the Clapham period of the day. Now Count Razemoffski might possibly be excused on account of his ignorance of our national customs, although he did constantly raise his hat to the serious looking ladies in the windows—but the same excuse cannot be urged in favour of Captain O’R. Why would he claim acquaintance with so many families to which I am sure he had never been formally introduced? Why would he, despite of the most earnest remonstrances of Messrs. T. and B., persist in kissing his hand to the young ladies at the windows. At last the part of the procession in which the T. and B. drag was moving came in front of a stiff red brick house, surrounded by stiff poplars, and on the gate of this house was a brass plate—on the brass plate was engraved in bold and legible characters the words

There were two stone balls over the two posts on each side of the gate. There were three windows in front on the drawing-room floor. At each of these windows sate a young lady glancing mournfully at the painful scene below—and each of these ladies was a Miss Crabb. Behind Miss Caroline Crabb was standing a stout, unctuous-looking gentleman in a loose suit of black, one Dr. Dullington, a friend of the family, who ejaculated from time to time the words, “''Ow ollow! Oh! ow ollow!''”

Now as the T. and B. party arrived in front of this mansion there was a stoppage; but all the native-born members of it drew their veils down over their heads, and sat in the attitude of men who were receiving a ducking from a pitiless storm. Not so with the Count and Captain O’Rourke; the sight of Mould Lodge, and its fair tenants, seemed to rouse them into unusual hilarity—and neither of the two gentlemen was under ordinary circumstances afflicted with low spirits. How they did take off their hats, and kiss their hands to the Misses Crabb—despite of the earnest remonstrances of their companions. The Captain desired to be informed why he should desist when his eye was filled with the “charrums” of lovely womanhood, which according to his experience of the fair sex had been seldom equalled, and never surpassed. Indeed a playful controversy arose between the gallant officer and the foreign nobleman as to who should be considered as having prior claims to urge the assurances of his respectful attachment upon the sister-band who were contemplating, not without scorn, their proceedings from the windows of Mould Lodge.

The deceitful men were recognised. Need I say more? But, O, the pain of it to Dr. Dullington!

Meanwhile the procession continued on its way. There were the usual number of stoppages, when a number of vehicles had stopped at some roadside public-house to refresh horse and man. The narrows were passed—and the pace began to mend, and as the pace mended you occasionally lost sight of the phaeton with the Jewish ladies, but were sure to pick them up again within the half-mile. And now parties were seen who had taken the horses out of their carts by the roadside, and were holding extemporised pic-nics, never forgetting, however, to hold up their glasses with gestures of courteous invitation and hospitality to the passers by. Then there was a refreshing check in the shady lanes, and at last pleasant Epsom was reached—and swarms of boys with “The only correct lists, and pins to prick ’em with,” were pressed upon the notice of the pilgrims. One check at the nasty corner, and Hey for the open country. We pass the phaeton with the Jewish ladies—it is to be hoped for the last time—and here are the Downs at last. Hurrah!