Omnebene
Sinepoena
Tempusestludendi。
Venithora
Absquemora
Librosdeponendi。
OLDHOLIDAYSCHOOLSONG。
INTHEprecedingpaperIhavemadesomegeneralobservationson
theChristmasfestivitiesofEngland，andamtemptedtoillustrate
thembysomeanecdotesofaChristmaspassedinthecountry；in
perusingwhichIwouldmostcourteouslyinvitemyreadertolay
asidetheausterityofwisdom，andtoputonthatgenuineholiday
spiritwhichistolerantoffolly，andanxiousonlyforamusement。
InthecourseofaDecembertourinYorkshire，Irodeforalong
distanceinoneofthepubliccoaches，onthedayprecedingChristmas。
Thecoachwascrowded，bothinsideandout，withpassengers，who，by
theirtalk，seemedprincipallyboundtothemansionsofrelationsor
friends，toeattheChristmasdinner。Itwasloadedalsowith
hampersofgame，andbasketsandboxesofdelicacies；andhareshung
danglingtheirlongearsaboutthecoachman’sbox，presentsfrom
distantfriendsfortheimpendingfeast。Ihadthreefinerosy—cheeked
boysformyfellow—passengersinside，fullofthebuxomhealthand
manlyspiritwhichIhaveobservedinthechildrenofthiscountry。
Theywerereturninghomefortheholidaysinhighglee，and
promisingthemselvesaworldofenjoyment。Itwasdelightfultohear
thegiganticplansofthelittlerogues，andtheimpracticablefeats
theyweretoperformduringtheirsixweeks’emancipationfromthe
abhorredthraldomofbook，birch，andpedagogue。Theywerefullof
anticipationsofthemeetingwiththefamilyandhousehold，downto
theverycatanddog；andofthejoytheyweretogivetheirlittle
sistersbythepresentswithwhichtheirpocketswerecrammed；butthe
meetingtowhichtheyseemedtolookforwardwiththegreatest
impatiencewaswithBantam，whichIfoundtobeapony，and，according
totheirtalk，possessedofmorevirtuesthananysteedsincethedays
ofBucephalus。Howhecouldtrot！howhecouldrun！andthensuch
leapsashewouldtake—therewasnotahedgeinthewholecountry
thathecouldnotclear。
Theywereundertheparticularguardianshipofthecoachman，to
whom，wheneveranopportunitypresented，theyaddressedahostof
questions，andpronouncedhimoneofthebestfellowsintheworld。
Indeed，Icouldnotbutnoticethemorethanordinaryairofbustle
andimportanceofthecoachman，whoworehishatalittleononeside，
andhadalargebunchofChristmasgreensstuckinthebuttonholeof
hiscoat。Heisalwaysapersonagefullofmightycareandbusiness，
butheisparticularlysoduringthisseason，havingsomany
commissionstoexecuteinconsequenceofthegreatinterchangeof
presents。Andhere，perhaps，itmaynotbeunacceptabletomy
untravelledreaders，tohaveasketchthatmayserveasageneral
representationofthisverynumerousandimportantclassof
functionaries，whohaveadress，amanner，alanguage，anair，
peculiartothemselves，andprevalentthroughoutthefraternity；so
that，whereveranEnglishstagecoachmanmaybeseen，hecannotbe
mistakenforoneofanyothercraftormystery。
Hehascommonlyabroad，fullface，curiouslymottledwithred，as
ifthebloodhadbeenforcedbyhardfeedingintoeveryvesselof
theskin；heisswelledintojollydimensionsbyfrequentpotationsof
maltliquors，andhisbulkisstillfurtherincreasedbya
multiplicityofcoats，inwhichheisburiedlikeacauliflower，the
upperonereachingtohisheels。Hewearsabroad—brimmed，low—crowned
hat；ahugerollofcoloredhandkerchiefabouthisneck，knowingly
knottedandtuckedinatthebosom；andhasinsummertimealarge
bouquetofflowersinhisbutton—hole；thepresent，mostprobably，
ofsomeenamoredcountrylass。Hiswaistcoatiscommonlyofsome
brightcolor，striped，andhissmallclothesextendfarbelowthe
knees，tomeetapairofjockeybootswhichreachabouthalfwayup
hislegs。
Allthiscostumeismaintainedwithmuchprecision；hehasapride
inhavinghisclothesofexcellentmaterials；and，notwithstandingthe
seeminggrossnessofhisappearance，thereisstilldiscerniblethat
neatnessandproprietyofperson，whichisalmostinherentinan
Englishman。Heenjoysgreatconsequenceandconsiderationalongthe
road；hasfrequentconferenceswiththevillagehousewives，wholook
uponhimasamanofgreattrustanddependence；andheseemsto
haveagoodunderstandingwitheverybright—eyedcountrylass。The
momenthearriveswherethehorsesaretobechanged，hethrowsdown
thereinswithsomethingofanair，andabandonsthecattletothe
careofthehostler；hisdutybeingmerelytodrivefromonestage
toanother。Whenoffthebox，hishandsarethrustintothepocketsof
hisgreatcoat，andherollsabouttheinnyardwithanairofthe
mostabsolutelordliness。Hereheisgenerallysurroundedbyan
admiringthrongofhostlers，stable—boys，shoeblacks，andthose
namelesshangers—on，thatinfestinnsandtaverns，andrunerrands，
anddoallkindofoddjobs，fortheprivilegeofbatteningonthe
drippingsofthekitchenandtheleakageofthetap—room。Theseall
lookuptohimastoanoracle；treasureuphiscantphrases；echohis
opinionsabouthorsesandothertopicsofjockeylore；and，aboveall，
endeavortoimitatehisairandcarriage。Everyragamuffinthathas
acoattohisback，thrustshishandsinthepockets，rollsinhis
gait，talksslang，andisanembryoCoachey。
Perhapsitmightbeowingtothepleasingserenitythatreignedin
myownmind，thatIfanciedIsawcheerfulnessineverycountenance
throughoutthejourney。Astagecoach，however，carriesanimation
alwayswithit，andputstheworldinmotionasitwhirlsalong。The
horn，soundedattheentranceofavillage，producesageneralbustle。
Somehastenforthtomeetfriends；somewithbundlesandband—boxesto
secureplaces，andinthehurryofthemomentcanhardlytakeleaveof
thegroupthataccompaniesthem。Inthemeantime，thecoachmanhasa
worldofsmallcommissionstoexecute。Sometimeshedeliversahareor
pheasant；sometimesjerksasmallparcelornewspapertothedoorofa
publichouse；andsometimes，withknowingleerandwordsofsly
import，handstosomehalf—blushing，half—laughinghousemaidan
odd—shapedbillet—douxfromsomerusticadmirer。Asthecoach
rattlesthroughthevillage，everyonerunstothewindow，andyou
haveglancesoneverysideoffreshcountryfacesandblooming
gigglinggirls。Atthecornersareassembledjuntosofvillage
idlersandwisemen，whotaketheirstationstherefortheimportant
purposeofseeingcompanypass；butthesagestknotisgenerallyat
theblacksmith’s，towhomthepassingofthecoachisanevent
fruitfulofmuchspeculation。Thesmith，withthehorse’sheelin
hislap，pausesasthevehiclewhirlsby；thecyclopsroundthe
anvilsuspendtheirringinghammers，andsuffertheirontogrowcool；
andthesootyspectre，inbrownpapercap，laboringatthebellows，
leansonthehandleforamoment，andpermitstheasthmaticengine
toheavealong—drawnsigh，whileheglaresthroughthemurkysmoke
andsulphureousgleamsofthesmithy。
Perhapstheimpendingholidaymighthavegivenamorethanusual
animationtothecountry，foritseemedtomeasifeverybodywasin
goodlooksandgoodspirits。Game，poultry，andotherluxuriesof
thetable，wereinbriskcirculationinthevillages；thegrocers’，
butchers’andfruiterers’shopswerethrongedwithcustomers。The
housewiveswerestirringbrisklyabout，puttingtheirdwellingsin
order；andtheglossybranchesofholly，withtheirbright—red
berries，begantoappearatthewindows。Thescenebroughttomind
anoldwriter’saccountofChristmaspreparations：—"Nowcaponsand
hens，besideturkeys，geese，andducks，withbeefandmutton—mustall
die—forintwelvedaysamultitudeofpeoplewillnotbefedwitha
little。Nowplumsandspice，sugarandhoney，squareitamongpiesand
broth。Nowornevermustmusicbeintune，fortheyouthmustdance
andsingtogetthemaheat，whiletheagedsitbythefire。The
countrymaidleaveshalfhermarket，andmustbesentagain，ifshe
forgetsapackofcardsonChristmaseve。Greatisthecontentionof
hollyandivy，whethermasterordamewearsthebreeches。Diceand
cardsbenefitthebutler；andifthecookdonotlackwit，hewill
sweetlylickhisfingers。"
Iwasrousedfromthisfitofluxuriousmeditation，byashout
frommylittletravellingcompanions。Theyhadbeenlookingoutofthe
coachwindowsforthelastfewmiles，recognizingeverytreeand
cottageastheyapproachedhome，andnowtherewasageneralburst
ofjoy—"There’sJohn！andthere’soldCarlo！andthere’sBantam！"
criedthehappylittlerogues，clappingtheirhands。
Attheendofalanetherewasanoldsober—lookingservantin
livery，waitingforthem；hewasaccompaniedbyasuperannuated
pointer，andbytheredoubtableBantam，alittleoldratofapony，
withashaggymaneandlongrustytail，whostooddozingquietlyby
theroad—side，littledreamingofthebustlingtimesthatawaitedhim。
Iwaspleasedtoseethefondnesswithwhichthelittlefellows
leapedaboutthesteadyoldfootman，andhuggedthepointer；who
wriggledhiswholebodyforjoy。ButBantamwasthegreatobjectof
interest；allwantedtomountatonce，anditwaswithsomedifficulty
thatJohnarrangedthattheyshouldridebyturns，andtheeldest
shouldridefirst。
Offtheysetatlast；oneonthepony，withthedogboundingand
barkingbeforehim，andtheothersholdingJohn’shands；both
talkingatonce，andoverpoweringhimwithquestionsabouthome，and
withschoolanecdotes。IlookedafterthemwithafeelinginwhichI
donotknowwhetherpleasureormelancholypredominated；forIwas
remindedofthosedayswhen，likethem，Ihadneitherknowncarenor
sorrow，andaholidaywasthesummitofearthlyfelicity。Westoppeda
fewmomentsafterwardstowaterthehorses，andonresumingourroute，
aturnoftheroadbroughtusinsightofaneatcountryseat。Icould
justdistinguishtheformsofaladyandtwoyounggirlsinthe
portico，andIsawmylittlecomrades，withBantam，Carlo，andold
John，troopingalongthecarriageroad。Ileanedoutofthecoach
window，inhopesofwitnessingthehappymeeting，butagroveoftrees
shutitfrommysight。
IntheeveningwereachedavillagewhereIhaddeterminedtopass
thenight。Aswedroveintothegreatgatewayoftheinn，Isawonone
sidethelightofarousingkitchenfirebeamingthroughawindow。I
entered，andadmired，forthehundredthtime，thatpictureof
convenience，neatness，andbroadhonestenjoyment，thekitchenofan
Englishinn。Itwasofspaciousdimensions，hungroundwithcopperand
tinvesselshighlypolished，anddecoratedhereandtherewitha
Christmasgreen。Hams，tongues，andflitchesofbacon，were
suspendedfromtheceiling；asmoke—jackmadeitsceaselessclanking
besidethefireplace，andaclocktickedinonecorner。Awell—scoured
dealtableextendedalongonesideofthekitchen，withacoldround
ofbeef，andotherheartyviandsuponit，overwhichtwofoaming
tankardsofaleseemedmountingguard。Travellersofinferiororder
werepreparingtoattackthisstoutrepast，whileotherssatsmoking
andgossipingovertheiraleontwohigh—backedoakensettlesbeside
thefire。Trimhousemaidswerehurryingbackwardsandforwardsunder
thedirectionsofafresh，bustlinglandlady；butstillseizingan
occasionalmomenttoexchangeaflippantword，andhavearallying
laugh，withthegrouproundthefire。Thescenecompletelyrealized
PoorRobin’shumbleideaofthecomfortsofmid—winter：
Nowtreestheirleafyhatsdobare
ToreverenceWinter’ssilverhair；
Ahandsomehostesss，merryhost，
Apotofalenowandatoast，
Tobaccoandagoodcoalfire，
Arethingsthisseasondothrequire。**PoorRobin’sAlmanac，1684。
Ihadnotbeenlongattheinnwhenapost—chaisedroveuptothe
door。Ayounggentlemansteptout，andbythelightofthelampsI
caughtaglimpseofacountenancewhichIthoughtIknew。Imoved
forwardtogetanearerview，whenhiseyecaughtmine。Iwasnot
mistaken；itwasFrankBracebridge，asprightlygood—humoredyoung
fellow，withwhomIhadoncetravelledonthecontinent。Ourmeeting
wasextremelycordial，forthecountenanceofanold
fellow—travelleralwaysbringsuptherecollectionofathousand
pleasantscenes，oddadventures，andexcellentjokes。Todiscussall
theseinatransientinterviewataninnwasimpossible；andfinding
thatIwasnotpressedfortime，andwasmerelymakingatourof
observation，heinsistedthatIshouldgivehimadayortwoathis
father’scountryseat，towhichhewasgoingtopasstheholidays，and
whichlayatafewmilesdistance。"Itisbetterthaneatinga
solitaryChristmasdinnerataninn，"saidhe，"andIcanassureyou
ofaheartywelcomeinsomethingoftheold—fashionedstyle。"His
reasoningwascogent，andImustconfessthepreparationIhadseen
foruniversalfestivityandsocialenjoymenthadmademefeelalittle
impatientofmyloneliness。Iclosed，therefore，atonce，withhis
invitation；thechaisedroveuptothedoor，andinafewmomentsI
wasonmywaytothefamilymansionoftheBracebridges。
THEEND。
1819—20
THESKETCHBOOK
THEVOYAGE
byWashingtonIrving
Ships，ships，Iwilldescrieyou
Amidstthemain，
Iwillcomeandtryyou，
Whatyouareprotecting，
Andprojecting，
What’syourendandaim。
Onegoesabroadformerchandiseandtrading，
Anotherstaystokeephiscountryfrominvading，
Athirdiscominghomewithrichandwealthylading。
Halloo！myfancie，whitherwiltthougo？
OLDPOEM。
TOANAmericanvisitingEurope，thelongvoyagehehastomakeisan
excellentpreparative。Thetemporaryabsenceofworldlyscenesand
employmentsproducesastateofmindpeculiarlyfittedtoreceive
newandvividimpressions。Thevastspaceofwatersthatseparatesthe
hemispheresislikeablankpageinexistence。Thereisnogradual
transition，bywhich，asinEurope，thefeaturesandpopulationofone
countryblendalmostimperceptiblywiththoseofanother。Fromthe
momentyoulosesightofthelandyouhaveleftallisvacancyuntil
youstepontheoppositeshore，andarelaunchedatonceintothe
bustleandnoveltiesofanotherworld。
Intravellingbylandthereisacontinuityofsceneandaconnected
successionofpersonsandincidents，thatcarryonthestoryof
life，andlessentheeffectofabsenceandseparation。Wedrag，it
istrue，"alengtheningchain，"ateachremoveofourpilgrimage；
butthechainisunbroken：wecantraceitbacklinkbylink；andwe
feelthatthelaststillgrapplesustohome。Butawideseavoyage
seversusatonce。Itmakesusconsciousofbeingcastloosefrom
thesecureanchorageofsettledlife，andsentadriftupona
doubtfulworld。Itinterposesagulf，notmerelyimaginary，but
real，betweenusandourhomes—agulfsubjecttotempest，andfear，
anduncertainty，renderingdistancepalpable，andreturnprecarious。
Such，atleast，wasthecasewithmyself。AsIsawthelastblue
lineofmynativelandfadeawaylikeacloudinthehorizon，it
seemedasifIhadclosedonevolumeoftheworldanditsconcerns，
andhadtimeformeditation，beforeIopenedanother。Thatland，
too，nowvanishingfrommyview，whichcontainedallmostdeartome
inlife；whatvicissitudesmightoccurinit—whatchangesmight
takeplaceinme，beforeIshouldvisititagain！Whocantell，when
hesetsforthtowander，whitherhemaybedrivenbytheuncertain
currentsofexistence；orwhenhemayreturn；orwhetheritmayever
behislottorevisitthescenesofhischildhood？
Isaidthatatseaallisvacancy；Ishouldcorrectthe
expression。Toonegiventoday—dreaming，andfondoflosinghimself
inreveries，aseavoyageisfullofsubjectsformeditation；butthen
theyarethewondersofthedeep，andoftheair，andrathertendto
abstractthemindfromworldlythemes。Idelightedtololloverthe
quarter—railing，orclimbtothemain—top，ofacalmday，andmusefor
hourstogetheronthetranquilbosomofasummer’ssea；togazeupon
thepilesofgoldencloudsjustpeeringabovethehorizon，fancy
themsomefairyrealms，andpeoplethemwithacreationofmyown；—to
watchthegentleundulatingbillows，rollingtheirsilvervolumes，
asiftodieawayonthosehappyshores。
Therewasadelicioussensationofmingledsecurityandawewith
whichIlookeddownfrommygiddyheight，onthemonstersofthe
deepattheiruncouthgambols。Shoalsofporpoisestumblingabout
thebowoftheship；thegrampusslowlyheavinghishugeformabove
thesurface；ortheravenousshark，darting，likeaspectre，through
thebluewaters。MyimaginationwouldconjureupallthatIhad
heardorreadofthewateryworldbeneathme；ofthefinnyherds
thatroamitsfathomlessvalleys；oftheshapelessmonstersthat
lurkamongtheveryfoundationsoftheearth；andofthosewild
phantasmsthatswellthetalesoffishermenandsailors。
Sometimesadistantsail，glidingalongtheedgeoftheocean，would
beanotherthemeofidlespeculation。Howinterestingthisfragmentof
aworld，hasteningtorejointhegreatmassofexistence！Whata
gloriousmonumentofhumaninvention；whichhasinamanner
triumphedoverwindandwave；hasbroughttheendsoftheworldinto
communion；hasestablishedaninterchangeofblessings，pouringinto
thesterileregionsofthenorthalltheluxuriesofthesouth；has
diffusedthelightofknowledgeandthecharitiesofcultivated
life；andhasthusboundtogetherthosescatteredportionsofthe
humanrace，betweenwhichnatureseemedtohavethrownan
insurmountablebarrier。
Weonedaydescriedsomeshapelessobjectdriftingatadistance。At
sea，everythingthatbreaksthemonotonyofthesurroundingexpanse
attractsattention。Itprovedtobethemastofashipthatmust
havebeencompletelywrecked；forthereweretheremainsof
handkerchiefs，bywhichsomeofthecrewhadfastenedthemselvesto
thisspar，topreventtheirbeingwashedoffbythewaves。Therewas
notracebywhichthenameoftheshipcouldbeascertained。Thewreck
hadevidentlydriftedaboutformanymonths；clustersofshell—fish
hadfastenedaboutit，andlongsea—weedsflauntedatitssides。But
where，thoughtI，isthecrew？Theirstrugglehaslongbeenover—they
havegonedownamidsttheroarofthetempest—theirboneslie
whiteningamongthecavernsofthedeep。Silence，oblivion，likethe
waves，haveclosedoverthem，andnoonecantellthestoryoftheir
end。Whatsighshavebeenwaftedafterthatship！whatprayersoffered
upatthedesertedfiresideofhome！Howoftenhasthemistress，the
wife，themother，poredoverthedailynews，tocatchsomecasual
intelligenceofthisroverofthedeep！Howhasexpectationdarkened
intoanxiety—anxietyintodread—anddreadintodespair！Alas！not
onemementomayeverreturnforlovetocherish。Allthatmayever
beknown，is，thatshesailedfromherport，"andwasneverheardof
more！"
Thesightofthiswreck，asusual，gaverisetomanydismal
anecdotes。Thiswasparticularlythecaseintheevening，whenthe
weather，whichhadhithertobeenfair，begantolookwildand
threatening，andgaveindicationsofoneofthosesuddenstorms
whichwillsometimesbreakinupontheserenityofasummervoyage。As
wesatroundthedulllightofalampinthecabin，thatmadethe
gloommoreghastly，everyonehadhistaleofshipwreckand
disaster。Iwasparticularlystruckwithashortonerelatedbythe
captain。
"AsIwasoncesailing，"saidhe，"inafinestoutshipacrossthe
banksofNewfoundland，oneofthoseheavyfogswhichprevailin
thosepartsrendereditimpossibleforustoseefaraheadeveninthe
daytime；butatnighttheweatherwassothickthatwecouldnot
distinguishanyobjectattwicethelengthoftheship。Ikept
lightsatthemast—head，andaconstantwatchforwardtolookout
forfishingsmacks，whichareaccustomedtolieatanchoronthe
banks。Thewindwasblowingasmackingbreeze，andweweregoingat
agreatratethroughthewater。Suddenlythewatchgavethealarmof
’asailahead！’—itwasscarcelyutteredbeforewewereuponher。
Shewasasmallschooner，atanchor，withherbroadsidetowardsus。
Thecrewwereallasleep，andhadneglectedtohoistalight。We
struckherjustamid—ships。Theforce，thesize，andweightofour
vesselboreherdownbelowthewaves；wepassedoverherandwere
hurriedonourcourse。Asthecrashingwreckwassinkingbeneathus，I
hadaglimpseoftwoorthreehalf—nakedwretchesrushingfromher
cabin；theyjuststartedfromtheirbedstobeswallowedshrieking
bythewaves。Iheardtheirdrowningcryminglingwiththewind。The
blastthatboreittoourearssweptusoutofallfartherhearing。
Ishallneverforgetthatcry！Itwassometimebeforewecouldput
theshipabout，shewasundersuchheadway。Wereturned，asnearly
aswecouldguess，totheplacewherethesmackhadanchored。We
cruisedaboutforseveralhoursinthedensefog。Wefiredsignal
guns，andlistenedifwemighthearthehallooofanysurvivors：but
allwassilent—weneversaworheardanythingofthemmore。"
Iconfessthesestories，foratime，putanendtoallmyfine
fancies。Thestormincreasedwiththenight。Theseawaslashedinto
tremendousconfusion。Therewasafearful，sullensoundofrushing
waves，andbrokensurges。Deepcalleduntodeep。Attimestheblack
volumeofcloudsoverheadseemedrentasunderbyflashesoflightning
whichquiveredalongthefoamingbillows，andmadethesucceeding
darknessdoublyterrible。Thethundersbellowedoverthewildwasteof
waters，andwereechoedandprolongedbythemountainwaves。AsI
sawtheshipstaggeringandplungingamongtheseroaringcaverns，it
seemedmiraculousthatsheregainedherbalance，orpreservedher
buoyancy。Heryardswoulddipintothewater：herbowwasalmost
buriedbeneaththewaves。Sometimesanimpendingsurgeappeared
readytooverwhelmher，andnothingbutadexterousmovementofthe
helmpreservedherfromtheshock。
WhenIretiredtomycabin，theawfulscenestillfollowedme。The
whistlingofthewindthroughtheriggingsoundedlikefunereal
wailings。Thecreakingofthemasts，thestrainingandgroaningof
bulk—heads，astheshiplaboredinthewelteringsea，were
frightful。AsIheardthewavesrushingalongthesidesoftheship，
androaringinmyveryearitseemedasifDeathwereraginground
thisfloatingprison，seekingforhisprey：themerestartingofa
nail，theyawningofaseam，mightgivehimentrance。
Afineday，however，withatranquilseaandfavoringbreeze，soon
putallthesedismalreflectionstoflight。Itisimpossibletoresist
thegladdeninginfluenceoffineweatherandfairwindatsea。When
theshipisdeckedoutinallhercanvas，everysailswelled，and
careeringgaylyoverthecurlingwaves，howlofty，howgallantshe
appears—howsheseemstolorditoverthedeep！
Imightfillavolumewiththereveriesofaseavoyage，forwithme
itisalmostacontinualreverie—butitistimetogettoshore。
Itwasafinesunnymorningwhenthethrillingcryof"land！"was
givenfromthemast—head。Nonebutthosewhohaveexperienceditcan
formanideaofthedeliciousthrongofsensationswhichrushinto
anAmerican’sbosom，whenhefirstcomesinsightofEurope。There
isavolumeofassociationswiththeveryname。Itisthelandof
promise，teemingwitheverythingofwhichhischildhoodhasheard，or
onwhichhisstudiousyearshavepondered。