Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1877 — Louise Chandler Moulton and the Loudon Cabman. [ARTICLE]

Louise Chandler Moulton and the Loudon Cabman.

Suaix.l evar forget my flirt solitßry experience of the tender mercies of a Loudon cabby? I had been here two wetjtt, perhaps, and been driven here and tl»«4fin friendly company; but at last I was to venture forth alone. It was a Sunday afternoon—a lovely June day, which, should have produced a meltiig mood even In the hard heart of a cabby. I had becu bidden to an informal five-o’clock tea. at the house of a certain poet, in a certain quiet “Road,” among the many “Road*”*' of Kensington. An American friend me sadly but hopefully into a hansom. 1 asked him how much I was to pay, anu was told eighteen pence. I always ask this question by way of precaution, but I have found since that there is usually a sad discrepancy of opinion between my friend at the beginning and my driver at the end of the route; however, I hail not learned that fact at this early epoch. “ Eighteen pence,” said my iriend. “ I think you’ll be all right; but if there’s any trouble, you know, you must ask for his number, and I’ll have him up for you to-morrow” I thought he was pretty well “ up” already. Indeed, the up-ness, if I may coin a word, of the driver, is the most extraordinary thing about a hansom. I heard my friend announce the street and number of my destination, and. the sweet little cherub that sat up aloft make reply: “The lady knows where she’s a-goin’, don’t she ? ” and then we drove away. To me the drive did not seem long. As I have said, it was a day in June— Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and Bky. I could not see much of the sky, however, but I caught, when I strained my eyes upward, glimpses of a great, deep, blue dome, with white clouds drifting across it now and then, like the wings of gigantic birds. As we got a little out of the thick of the town, the sweet breath of. roses from gardens in bloom filled the air; in the gentle breeze the tree boughs waved lazily; there was everywhere a brooding warmth and peace, which I pleased my democratic heart by thinking tha- cabby must also enjoy. Was he not grateful to me, I wondered, for taking him a little off his accustomed track into these pleasant paths ? Suddenly my reverie was broken by his voice. He had opened the trap in the roof, and was calling down to me from his perch: “Which o’ them turns, ma’am?” I had never been in Kensingston before. I looked on in front, and down the cross street at each side. Instinct failed me ; I had not even a conjecture to hazard. I answered, mildly: “ Why, I don’t know, I’m sure.” “ Oh, you don’t know, don’t you? Well, then, I’m sure I don’t. The gentleman said as you knew where you was a-gorn’, or I wouldn’t a’ took you.” Then I spoke severely. The dignity of a free-bom American asserted itself. I said:

“I am not driving this cab. I wish to go to 163 Blank road, but it is hot my business to find the way. You cap ask the first policeman you see.” v» But the peace of the June afternoon was over. It seemed to me that the very hansom moved sullenly. We kept bringing up with a jerk at some corner, while cabby shouted out his inquiry, and then we went on again. At last we reached Blank road. I saw the name on a street sign, and soon we drew up before 163. I extracted eighteen pence from my purse, and handed it with sweet serenity to toy charioteer. Words fail me to describe the contempt upon his expressive countenance. He turned the money over in his hand, and looked at it, as a naturalist might at a carious insect. At length he demanded, jn.a tone which implied great self-control on his part: “ Will you tell me what this ’ere money is fur?” “It is your fare,” I said, with a smile which should have melted his heart, but didn’t. “My fare, is it?” And nis voice rose to a wild shriek. “My fare, is it?- And you lake me away, on a Sunday afternoon, from a beat where 1 was gettin’ a dozen fares an hour, and bring me to this Godforsaken place, and then offer me one-and-sixpence! My fare! I ought to ’ave a crown; and a ’alf-a-crown is the very least as I’ll take.” I took out another silver shilling, and handed it to him; but l felt that I had the dignity of an American citizeness to maintain. I remembered what my friend had told mfe, and I said loftily: “ And now I will take your number, if you please.” “ Tea I’ll give you my number. Oh, yes, you shall ’ave my number and welcome!” and he tore off from somewhere a sort of tin plate, with figures on it. I had been accustomed to the printed slip which every French cocher hands you without asking; and it occurred to me that this metal card was rather clumsy, and that if he carried many such about him they must somewhat weigh down his pockets; but I knew that England was a country where they believed in making things solid and durable, and I supposed it was quite natural that cabbies should present their passengers with metal numbers, instead of paper ones; so, holding the thing gingerly in ray hand, I marcheatranquilly up the steps of my friend’s house. I have seen in Italy and elsewhere various pictures of the descent of the fallen and condemned at the last day, but I think even Michael Angelo might have caught a new inspiration from die descent of my cabby.- fie plunged—l can think of no other word —down from his height, tore the badge from my trembling fingers, and shook his hard and brawny fist within the eighth of an inch of my tip-tilted nose. ■ t - “ ’Ow dare you,” he screamed—“’ow dare you be makin’ ofl' with my badge ? I’ll ’ave you up, liif you don’t mind your' heye.” * ; J ]4A And, indeed, I thought my eye very likely to need minding. But he mounted his perch again,- badge to - hand, and sured out imprecations I’ke k flood, while puMed frantically at LelLflnd knocker. When at last I was in my friend’s draw-ing-room, I told my troublous tale. “Oh, I hope you have his number,” said my host. “ No, he took it away, as I'm telling you.” “ Oh. but don’t you remember it? You should have taken it down with a pencil.” Then I discovered what my mistake had been. I have never, since that first adventure with the London cabby, encountered anything quite so formidable and terrifying; but I still feel that t|te London jehu is a being to be dreaded. My second experience of him was to drive under his auspices to a dinner-party. I gave him eighteen pence for a distance which I have since learned only entitled him to a shilling. He was a very polite cabman, quite the politest cabman* I have ever seen. He regarded his one-and-slxpence with a gentle smile, a little tinged with melan-

choly. Then ho touched his hat, and said most respectfully: ” “ I brtp you* pardon, but I think as you dortH know the distances. No lady aa knew would give me less than two shilling*.” Lgav* him another sixpence—I should have done it even it I had known better, his courtesy was so beguiling. He thanked mesweetly, and then he said: “About what time would my lady UeT"' likely to be going ’ome? If J.;® ,m tHis. neighborhood I’ll come foryigt 1 Mhtiigfy 'J save j’ou some trouble.” I informed I .ili...ma irmuyj but, at about eleven o’clock, a servant came to me and tola me that the cabmdrt who brpfighl.md IMS waiting for mtvso I submitted to destiny and went"norue under his banner. —London TattVr. ' —While the Rqr Mr. TjiomasJoird-! ner, Me., was immersing nine converts in 1 a small stnedhr hear Lisbon Faltdjon a recent Sunday, he was suddenly stricken down with paralysis. One of the converts carried him to the bank, where he wdfe lifted into a carriage and. taken to a deacon’s house. “If I had died lit the water,” he exclaimed, “ it would have been well, I have always prayed that I might die with the armor on,” , ’ Tire largest ntlmber of acres held by one family in Massachusetts is now iii possession of the heirs of Judge Tjng, of Tyngsboro’. The tract is nine miles long.