Jonathan and a weasel are two animals that are very rarely caught napping.

Passengers kept coming in until we were six, and "comfortable enough" became a misnomer.

A furious blast of the tin tube, with a few spicy impromptu variations, portended something important, and, as we pulled up, we saw it was the post-office; but, murder of murders! we saw four more passengers! One got up outside; another was following; Jarvey stopped him, with--"I guess there aint no room up here for you; the mail's a-coming here." The door opened,--the three damp bodkins in line commenced their assault,--the last came between my companion and myself, I could not see much of him, it was so dark; but--woe is me!--there are other senses besides sight, and my unfortunate nostrils drank in a most foetid polecatty odour, ever increasing as he drew nearer and nearer.

Room to sit there was none; but, at the blast of the tube, the rattle over the pitty pavement soon shook the obnoxious animal down between us, squeezing the poisonous exhalation out of him at each successive jolt.

As dawn rose, we saw he was a German, and doubtless the poor fellow was very hard-up for money, and had been feeding for some time past on putrid pork.