The Sun.
London, England, 1824-04-17 00:00:00

MISERIES OF A STAGE COACH.

[From as American Paper.)
" After all," says Madame de STAIL, 44 it is a
melancholy pleasure to travel." My dear Corinna, what an
expression !—" a pleasure to travel !" You might as well
Lave said, " D'abord ce n'est qu'un triste plaisir que de su
faire arracher le dent !" Nowever pleasant it might be to you
to roll in your baronial travelling carriage from Geneva to Pa-
ris, to meet the incense of your adoring beaux esprit:, I can
assure your illustrious shade, that the American stage-coach is
quite another affair. The very Gerius of Inconvenience seems
to have invented them, and to continue his ungracious assist-
ance to arrange their evolutions.
Misery Ist. Packing.
2. After a sleepless night of anxiety, on the eve of the fatal
day, mixed with the interesting reflections_is every thing right
in my valise Mary remember to wake me at four ?
where did I pack' my shaving apparatus ? &c.--you drop
into a perturbed sleep, which in half an hour is broken by the
appalling cry--" The stage is come, Sir." You wake with
aching head and low spirits, and would give every thing in the
world, except your already-paid passage-money, to sleep till P.
3. Getting into the coach in the dark, treading on the feet of
the peevish, sleepy, occupants—you are stuck upon the midst
of the narrow tottering, middle seat, with no back to lean
against, and two or three trunks already in possession of the
place destined for your legs. A sick child is awaked by your
entree, and the mother opens on an octavo higher than concert
pitch, to drown his cries and aid in waking him thoroughly:
After keeping you in this state half an hour, the coachman
drives on, you are greeted with the mutterd d—n' of your
opposite male fellow passenger, as you pitch against him, and
the whinning ' dear me ! luddy mercy ; of the " ladies" (to
use the coachman's hyperbolical complement to the gingham-
draped travellers), on whom, in turn you recoil.
4. A breakfast at a poor tavern. Domestic coffee, sweetened
with maple sugar, heavy, coarce bread—tough, cold ham. No
napkins, no salt spoons, no egg cups, no toast, no nothing.
You have now a view of your fellow-passengers, who are to
bear you company throughout a long summer's day. And
first of the " ladies"—the sick Childs cross mother—a red, fat,
snuff-faced widow, and two old maids with faded silk gowns
and gold necklaces. The men ignorant and presuming,
wrangling about manufactures and politics, and treating
their salivary glands to a profusion of tobacco. You have a
fine time to reflect on your folly in leaving the charming,
cheerful breakfast at C—'s. The strong, hot amber of the
coffee—the light French roll—the Vauxhall ham, and, above
all, the rosy. laughing girls, blooming and giggling from their
morning slumbers, and full of the amusements and sports of
the day—" a longing, lingering look behind."
5. As you are about to remount the mud-fleckered coach, you
look with tardy prudence for your valise. Remember at this
convenient season, you forgot it. You thus endure, like the
man in the play, not only disgrace and inconvenience, but
positive loss. Forced to open your heavy, large, close-packed
trunk twenty times a-day, for want of the valise as a tender.
Your immagination dwelling on it with nervous tenacity,—
" So neat a valise—so convenient—all my dressing articles—the
very valise I had abroad—how could I lose my valise ?" &c.
0. A rough, stony road, wooden springs to the carriage, the
horses as well as the driver in spirit:, or deep clinging mud,
lazy driver and tired horses—long stages of 12 or tomes with
a heavy load.
7. Wishing to make a cross-cut, you are told that at the
next village you will certainly find horses. Arrive, and while
seeking the landlord, let the former stage drive off. Find out
that there are no horses in. Perquisitions reluctantly and in-
dolently made for you at the doctor's, Squire L.'s, &c., un-
successful, it being the landlord's interest to detain you, and
thence.

______.
8. A day at a country tavern—no books, amusements, or
company.—(See Washington Irving's Stout Gentleman.)_
No good wine, no agreeable prospect, no pleasant scenery, no
pretty chambermaids. The day seems like a little eternity—
" Nothing there is to come, and nothing past."
9. Arrive at your destination ; hotel full ; are cork-screwed
up five pair of stairs to a little, low, dark chamber, with two
beds. The servant vanishes under the artful pretence of filling
your dressing pitcher, but returns not—no bell—grope down to
the bar—every one busy with the previous customers, in their
new coats and smooth chins ; bar-keeper, from your muddy tra-
velling frock and long beard, takes you for your own servant,
and minds nothing you say. Dressing to go out, find that
every thing you want is precisely at the nadir of your trunk,
which is not quite so handy as an elephant's ; clothes full of
wrinkles—cravats yellow : quizzed by the native dandies in
the reading and bar-room. ; nobody to whom you have cards
at home ; your banker in the country, to stay a fortnight
—little money, .and no credit ; see a fine girl in the street
—laughs at your Yankee coat instead of falling in love with
you, conime de raison—find the reverse of the proverb about
a prophet in his own country true; treated rudely at the
table d'hote, quarrel, no friend to take your note ; maks your
dying arrangements—no friend to leave them with ; bound
over to keep the peace—no friend to be hail. Get into the
coach to return : every thing worse than before, because you
have no curiosity to gratify, and have tired your body and mind
into a state of querulous despondence. Arrive at home, and
learn that, in your absence, your firm has failed, and your
mistress married your rival.
ODYSSEUS.

OxronD, Arttri. l6.—Saturday, April 10, the last day 0:
Lent Term, the following Degrees were conferred :
Doctor in Divinity.—The Rev. Christopher Lipscombe, Fel,
low of New College, and lately appointed Bishop of Jamaica.
Doctor in Civil Low.—The Rev. Geo. Chandler, some time
Fellow of New College, Grand Compounder.
It-fasters of Arts.—ltev. John Hobart Seymour, Exeter Col-
lege ; Rev. Francis Lipscomb, Scholar of University College ;
Rev. John Fisher, Pembroke College; Thomas John Powell,
ISt. Alban-hall.
Bachelors of Arts.—Rice Robert Hughes, Esq., Jesus' Col-
ege ,• David Williams, Jesus' College.
The number of Determining Bachelors in Lent was two
hundred and forty-seven.
The whole number of Degrees in Lent Term was D.D. two;
D.C.L. two; B.D. five; 11. A. thirty-five; B.A. forty-nine;
Matriculations one hundred and twelve.
ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS.
The Rev. Sir Henry Dryden, Vicar of A nibrosden, in this
county, to the Vicarage of Leke Wootton, in Warwickshire;
patron, Chandos Leigh, Esq. of Stoneley Abbey.
The Rev. Thomas Lea, M.A. Rector of Bishop's Itchin
ton, Warwickshire, to the Rectory of Tadmarton, in this
comity ; patron, his father, Thomas Lea, Esq. A sanguinary conflict took place at Tours, in
On Wednesday se'nnight, the Rev. Charles Carr, Fellow of France, on the 7th inst., between some journeymen carpenters
University College, was instituted to the Rectory or Headbourn end several dragoons of the 9th regiment, in which one of the
Worthy, vacant by the death of the Rev. F. Allen. The living journeymen was killed by a blow from a sabre, and another
is in the gift of that Society, wounded, and three dragoons wounded, one of them mortally.
The Rev. Thomas Foster, Chaplain of Christ Church? pre- The cause of this conflict is said to have been intoxication.