In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a
long distance in one of the public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas. The coach was crowded, both inside and out, with
passengers, who, by their talk, seemed principally bound to the mansions of
relations or friends to eat the Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with
hampers of game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and hares hung dangling
their long ears about the coachman's box,—presents from distant friends for the
impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked schoolboys for my
fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom health and manly spirit which I
have observed in the children of this country. They were returning home for the
holidays in high glee, and promising themselves a world of enjoyment. It was
delightful to hear the gigantic plans of pleasure of the little rogues, and the
impracticable feats they were to perform during their six weeks' emancipation from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch, and
pedagogue.
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