We once travelled four hundred miles, inside a stage-coach, with a stout man, who had a glass of rum-and-water, warm, handed in at the window at every place where we changed horses.

This was decidedly unpleasant.

We have also travelled occasionally, with a small boy of a pale aspect, with light hair, and no perceptible neck, coming up to town from school under the protection of the guard, and directed to be left at the Cross Keys till called for.

This is, perhaps, even worse than rum-and-water in a close atmosphere.

Then there is the whole train of evils consequent on a change of the coachman; and the misery of the discovery--which the guard is sure to make the moment you begin to doze--that he wants a brown-paper parcel, which he distinctly remembers to have deposited under the seat on which you are reposing.