FROM THE RANK.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 433, 4 October 1869, Page 3

FROM THE RANK.

(From Chambers' Journal.) What was the queerest thing as ever hap pened to me since I ha' been in the rank ? Well, there has been a many queer things, and one a most terrible one. We Fourwheelers see. a deal of life; much more than them 'Ansom chaps does, notwithstanding the little hole in the roof through which they looks down upon parties when parties isn't aware. They drives fast and fast folks, and sonic has an idea that it is only fast life as is Life; but you knows better, sir, I daresay." I was taking a long street-drive upon the box-seat of a " growl-r," with my family in the interior, bound for a distant railway station, arid I bad put a certain question to my cabman, in hopes that his answer might nv.ikc the journey less t.dious. He was a young fellow, smartly dressed, aud drove a horse so unusually quick-paced, that I felt quite a scruple of conscience in not inquiring into his merits. But then I had asked a cabman about his horse before, and the cou sequences had been most disastrous; as bad as asking n High Church clergyman about his chancel, or a valetudinarian about his complaints; there had beeu no end to the subject at all; and now I congratulated myself upon my reticence, for a cabman's lougwindeduess is in inverse proportion to that of his steed, and since, when my inquiry had only been directed to human affairs, my Jehu showed such signs of verbosity, what would he not h ive been (thought I) upon the sub ject of horse-flesh ? " What was the queerest thing as ever happened to me .13 a kebman ? Well, perhaps this un was; or, at all events, . l remembers it best, because it happened only last week. O my ! yes, it was a rummy go ! " And with that my friend was so tickled with the recollection that he rolled on his seat till I thought he would have rolled off it, while the reins so shook in his hand that the speedy horse, who took it for a sign that he was '* called upon," started off at a score, and missed only by an inch or two making himself a passenger in a citizen 'hus that chanced to be before us with its door open. This formed, of course, the introduction to an exchange of repartees between the cad and my impulsive companion, in which the latter had decidedly the better of it; and then, to my great relief (for I had come in for my share of epithets), we shot into a b3 r street, more suitable to the composition and appreciation of narrative. *' It was down by Cavendish square that I took her vp — a well-looking woman of nine-and-twenty or thereabouts, and a perfec' lady. Not only well dressed, but well mannered and affable, which is what I goes by, more than all the fino feathers as a bird can war. 'Kebman,' says she, ' drive meto the nearest chemist ;' and I druv her accordingly. " But she did not get what she wanted at that shop, for she says. ' Drive me to another chemist.' And I druv her. I should think we went to a matter of fifteen chemists, and yet she couldn't get what she was in search of. That, I began to think, was a little qti er, because chemists mostly has things one wants — spirits, or what does as well, for instance, on a wet Sunday, when the publics is closed — besides, everything as one can possibly not want, in them, green and blue bottles. So says I, seeing her look a'most as 'due as they, ' What is it that you do want, mem ? ' " ' Want ?' said she, in a slow absent sort of way, which made me somehow get it into my head (and it's there still) that what she did want, poor soul, was p'ison, ' well, I want to go into the country.' " ' Country ! ' says I, quite cheerful; ** }-ou have got into the keb with the right horse for that, mem. He can go a stretcher, he can. Where do yer wish to go to z ' " ' I want,' says she, speaking just like one in a dream, ' I want to go to Bath.' "Now Bath was rather a long order, even for my nag here, and I told her so. " Very good,' said she. ' Drive me to auo ther chemist.' " Then, as it didn't seem of any consequence to herself where she was druv, I took her up Maida '111 way J(where my stable is), and tried a chemist or two in those parts; but none of them had got the thing she wanted anymore than the others; and she looked more concerned and vexed than ever. She was such a perfec' lady to look at, and so affable, that I felt pity for her; and though it was not to my advantage, I said, says I : ! If you really do want to go to Bath, I had better drive you to the Great Western Hailway, where you can take the train.' " ' Ah,' says she, with a sort of shrink, as though somebody had struck at her, ' but isn't that l'addinsjton Station V " ' Well, mem,' says I, ' I will not deceive you, it certainly is.' " ' You arc a good man,' says she ' I wish everybody was like you ' (which was very kind of her, I'm sure); ' but I can't go to Paddington Station, because my husband is there waiting for me.' " Well, for all I know, this might be a very good reason : I know many a good woman — 'Ansom kebmen's wives — as avoids Paddington station on that account, and small blame to them. So, since the chemists couldn't suit her, I offers her an alterative of my own. '• < Alternative,' said I involuntarily. " ' "Very likely, sir; only I always calls it alterative,' replied my Jehu coldly. I had offended him by my foolish particularity, and it cost me a fourpenny cigar out of my case to re-establish his good humour. " ' Well, continued he, puffing slowly, and speaking with greater deliberation than ever, 'If I can't take you to Bath,' says I, ' I cau take you somewheres on the way — say Windsor.' " ' How much would that be ? says she, taking out her purse. " ' We couldn't do it, speaking for horse and man, under two pund, mem, and there's not another horse on our rank as could do it at all.' I

" ' Two pund is a large sum," Bays she. " ' Well,' says I, ' say Ealing. I will take you to Ealing Station, mem, for twelve-and-six, including all these chemists' — and indeed I had got off and on my box for a matter of forty times, by this; so I don't think it was unreasonable. I would not have been hard upon that 'ere fare, if it was ever so, partly because of the p'ison as I had in my mind, and partly because she was such a perfec' lady. "'You may drive me to Ealing Station, then,' says she, in a sort of despairing voice; and I druv her. The train to Bath was not duo for an hour or so, and she wanted to try the chemists nt Ealing; but that I wouldn't have nothing to do with. A couutry chemist might have given the poor thing what I am sadly afraid she wanted, and I wasn't going to have anything happen in my keb, if I kno wed it— out at Ealing. " ' No, says I, ' mem, askiug your pardon, but no more physic-shops for me. If you would take my advice, you would let me drive you to a public-house, for a drop of something better than physic, and of which I think you stands in need.' "'As you please,' says she, 'kebman,' in such a soft and miserable voice as went to myhvart; just as though she did not care 'where she was druv to, if it couldn't be out of the world. So I pulled up at a public, and gave her some bread and cheese — good Wiltshire it was, and jet she took no more tban a mouse might nibble, and a little sup of porter, which she drank as though it was black dose, sitting all the while in the keb; while I made a goodish meal, I promise you. Then we went back to the station, and she gave me her purse to get her ticket — first-class— to Bath for her, ' for,' says she, « I can trust you with untold gold' (which was also very kind of her, and I hope the truth). Then I . gives her tbe ticket and her purse. 'And will you stay here in the keb,' says I, ' or wait upon the platform, mem ?' "' I will stay in the keb, thank you,' " says she ; aud upon my life, sir, I do believe it was because I had been tolerably kind to her, and sho did not like to part company with me before she was obliged. She had ' hard lines' in the world, and been badly treated by some one or another, you may take your davey : poor soul. " I did not like to trouble her with such a matter, but as the time was getting very short, I says : ' Please, mem, you have forgot to give me the twelve-and-six ;' for as for the bread aud eh. ese and porter that she had paid for ou the spot. •''Odear, I am so sorry,' says she: 'I fancied you would have paid yourself when I gave you the purse,' "' No mem,' says I. ' I should never have thought of taking any such a liberty.' [To be continued.]