The last twenty years of the coaching era were remarkable for the development of musical ability on the part of the guards, both of the mail- and stage-coaches, who, relieved from their old-time anxieties and fears of highwaymen, kept their blunderbusses safely stowed away, and, turning their attention, like so many scarlet-coated Strephons, to the ballad-music of the moment, became expert practitioners on the key-bugle. That instrument came over from Germany in 1818, and for a time pretty thoroughly displaced the old “yard of tin” the earlier guards had blown so lustily. The new generation developed a passion for this strident kind of minstrelsy. Like the hero (or is it heroine?) of the “Lost Chord,” their “fingers wandered idly over the sounding keys,” and although many were expert players and, unlike the organist in that song, _did_ know what they were playing, the jolting of the coaches must often have discomposed their harmony to some extent, so that the passengers could not always boast the same knowledge. Piccadilly, one of the chief starting-points in London, was in this manner a highly musical thoroughfare at the period now under review. Ten guards, blowing ten different tunes at once, produced, we are told--and can well believe--a wonderful effect; and the roads became excruciatingly lively when every gay young blood of a guard learned to play “Cherry Ripe,” the “Huntsman’s Chorus,” “Oh! Nanny, wilt Thou gang wi’ Me?” and half a hundred others. The passengers, like that famous young lady “with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,” had music wherever they went. Let us hope they appreciated their good fortune to the full. The Post Office looked with a cold glance upon these proceedings, and forbade mail-guards to play the key-bugle. Those officials therefore purchased them secretly, and snatched a fearful joy by producing them when clear of London streets, and playing, loud and long, such airs as “The Days when we went Gipsying, a Long Time Ago,” and “Sally in our Alley,” to the great admiration of the country joskins. The performances of expert players were said to be delightful, and no doubt they quickly reaped in tips a harvest from what they had expended on their instruments. It is on record that a guard on the Chester Mail, with the fear of God or public opinion before him, always used to honour the Sabbath Day by playing the “Old Hundredth” as the coach passed through town and village, reserving his secular tunes for the secluded highway.