posite, suddenly
opens the street-door, and four small children forthwith rush out, and
scream 'Coach!' with all their might and main. The waterman darts from
the pump, seizes the horses by their respective bridles, and drags them,
and the coach too, round to the house, shouting all the time for the
coachman at the very top, or rather very bottom of his voice, for it is a
deep bass growl. A response is heard from the tap-room; the coachman, in
his wooden-soled shoes, makes the street echo again as he runs across it;
and then there is such a struggling, and backing, and grating of the
kennel, to get the coach-door opposite the house-door, that the children
are in perfect ecstasies of delight. What a commotion! The old lady,
who has been stopping there for the last month, is going back to the
country. Out comes box after box, and one side of the vehicle is filled
with luggage in no time; the children get into everybody's way, and the
youngest, who has upset himself in his attempts to carry an umbrella, is
borne off wounded and kicking. The youngsters disappear, and a short
pause ensues, during which the old lady is, no doubt, kissing them all
round in the back parlour. She appears at last, followed by her married
daughter, all the children, and both the servants, who, with the joint
assistance of the coachman and waterman, manage to get her safely into
the coach. A cloak is handed in, and a little basket, which we could
almost swear contains a small black bottle, and a paper of sandwiches.
Up go the steps, bang goes the door, 'Golden-cross, Charing-cross, Tom,'
says the waterman; 'Good-bye, grandma,' cry the children, off jingles the
coach at the rate of three miles an hour, and the mamma and children
retire into the house, with the exception of one little villain, who runs
up the street at the top of his speed, pursued by the servant; not
ill-pleased to have such an opportunity of displaying her attractions.
She brings him back, and, after casting two or three gracious glances
across the way, which are either intended for us or the potboy (we are
not quite certain which), shuts the door, and the hackney-coach stand is
again at a standstill.

We have been frequently amused with the intense delight with which 'a
servant of all work,' who is sent for a coach, deposits herself inside;
and the unspeakable gratification which boys, who have been despatched on
a similar errand, appear to derive from mounting the box. Bu