Their only point of interest on the road is to save
the time, and see whether the coach keeps the hour.
This is surely a miserable degradation of human
intellect. Take my advice, my good sir, and disinterestedly
contrive that once or twice a quarter,
your most dexterous whip shall overturn a coachful
of those superfluous travellers, _in terrorem_ to
those who, as Horace says, ``delight in the dust
raised by your chariots.''
Your current and customary mail-coach passenger,
too, gets abominably selfish, schemes successfully
for the best seat, the freshest egg, the right
cut of the sirloin. The mode of travelling is death
to all the courtesies and kindnesses of life, and goes
a great way to demoralize the character, and cause
it to retrograde to barbarism. You allow us excellent
dinners, but only twenty minutes to eat
them; and what is the consequence? Bashful
beauty sits on the one side of us, timid childhood
on the other; respectable, yet somewhat feeble old
age is placed on our front; and all require those
acts of politeness which ought to put every degree
upon a level at the convivial board. But have we
time---we the strong and active of the party---to
perform the duties of the table to the more retired
and bashful, to whom these little attentions are
due? The lady should be pressed to her chicken
---the old man helped to his favourite and tender
slice---the child to his tart.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120