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    Coaches and Coaching
    Coaches and Coaching
    Coaches and Coaching
    Ebook68 pages46 minutes

    Coaches and Coaching

    By Paul Hardy and Leigh Hunt

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Coaches and Coaching
    Author

    Paul Hardy

    Paul Hardy has made eighteen short films with not nearly enough money. Despite this, he's had work screened on FilmFour, shown at international festivals and was chosen to make a short film during the Brief Encounters short film festival.He recently co-wrote and co-produced an independent feature film. Paul currently runs courses on how to make short films.

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      Book preview

      Coaches and Coaching - Paul Hardy

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Coaches and Coaching, by Leigh Hunt

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Coaches and Coaching

      Author: Leigh Hunt

      Illustrator: Paul Hardy

      Release Date: June 15, 2013 [EBook #42948]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COACHES AND COACHING ***

      Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was

      produced from images generously made available by The

      Internet Archive)

      COACHES AND COACHING

      BOOK love, my friends, is your pass to the greatest, the purest, and the most perfect pleasure that God has prepared for His creatures. It lasts when all other pleasures fade. It will support you when all other recreations are gone. It will last you until your death. It will make your hours pleasant to you as long as you live.

      Anthony Trollope.

      Leigh Hunt

      COACHES

      AND COACHING

      Embellished

      with pictures by

      Paul Hardy

      H. M. CALDWELL CO.

      BOSTON

      ACCORDING to the opinion commonly entertained respecting an author's want of riches, it may be allowed us to say that we retain from childhood a considerable notion of a ride in a coach. Nor do we hesitate to confess, that by coach we especially mean a hired one; from the equivocal dignity of the post-chaise, down to that despised old castaway, the hackney.

      It is true that the carriage, as it is indifferently called (as if nothing less genteel could carry any one), is a more decided thing than the chaise; it may be swifter even than the mail, leaves the stage at a still greater distance in every respect, and (forgetting what it may come to itself) darts by the poor old lumbering hackney with immeasureable contempt.

      It rolls with a prouder ease than any other vehicle. It is full of cushions and comfort; elegantly coloured inside and out; rich, yet neat; light and rapid, yet substantial. The horses seem proud to draw it. The fat and fair-wigged coachman lends his sounding lash, his arm only in action and that but little, his body well set with its own weight.

      The footman, in the pride of his nonchalance, holding by the straps behind, and glancing down sideways betwixt his cocked-hat and neckcloth, stands swinging from east to west upon his springy toes.

      The horses rush along amidst their glancing harness. Spotted dogs leap about them, barking with a princely superfluity of noise. The hammer-cloth trembles through all its fringe. The paint flashes in the sun.

      We, contemptuous of everything less convenient, bow backwards and forwards with a certain indifferent air of gentility, infinitely predominant.

      Suddenly, with a happy mixture of turbulence and truth, the carriage dashes up by the curb-stone to the very point desired, and stops with a lordly wilfulness of decision. The coachman looks as if nothing had happened. The footman is down in an instant; the knocker reverberates into the farthest corner of the house; doors, both carriage and house, are open;—we descend, casting a matter-of-course eye at the bystanders; and the moment we touch the pavement, the vehicle, as if conscious of what it has carried, and relieved from the weight of our importance, recovers from its sidelong inclination with a jerk, tossing and panting, as it were, for very breath, like the proud heads of the horses.

      All this, it must

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