An inn-yard, particularly such a well-frequented one as the Golden
Cross, Charing Cross, affords the greatest variety of character and
entertainment to a humorist. Vehicles to all parts of the kingdom, and
from the inscription on the Dover coaches, I might add to all parts of
the world, _via Paris_. "Does that coach go the whole way to France?"
said an ~278~~unsuspecting little piece of female simplicity to me, as
I stood lolling on the steps at the coach-office door. "Certainly,"
replied I, unthinkingly. "O, then I suppose," said the speaker, "they
have finished the projected chain-pier from Dover to Calais." "France
and England united? nothing more impossible," quoth I, correcting
the impression I had unintentionally created. "Are you going by the
Brighton, mam?" "Yes, I be." "Can't _take_ all that luggage." "Then you
sha'n't _take_ me." "Don't wish to be __taken for a waggon-man."
"No, but by Jasus, friend, you are a wag-on-her," said a merry-faced
Hibernian, standing by. "Have you paid down the _dust_, mam?" inquired
the last speaker. "I have paid for my place, sir," said the lady; "and
I shall lose two, if I don't go." "Then by the powers, cookey, you had
better pay for one and a half, and that will include luggage, and then
you'll be a half gainer by the bargain.
Pages:
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374