DISASTERS OF AN OUTSIDE TRAVELLER BY THE TALLY-HO!

Exhale mundungus, ill perfuming scent!

To Geoffrey Oldcastle.

The Splendid Shilling.

SIR,-When I read the following alarming account of the danger in which the lives of his Majesty's subjects were placed, I shuddered at the thought of the calamitous consequences which might have been the result; and it brought to my recollection my own sufferings from that vile practice of cigar smoking.

"The Defiance coach, on its way down to this city on Thursday, took fire in the course of the night, in consequence of a fumigatory passenger dropping his igneous apparatus. Some damage was done to a few of the parcels, but not to any great extent.-Exeter Times."

Only suppose the conflagration to have reached the petticoats of some lady, which the learned in these matters know are composed of linen, except that which is called the Dickey! In such a case, there is no saying whither the flames might have extended; and it is ten to one that it would have been "all Dickey" with her. Only think, I say, upon these awful dangers, Mr. Oldcastle, and then hear my sad cause of complaint against the pest of puffing.

One day, neither fine nor rainy, I got upon a coach, I won't say positively that it was the Tally-ho! or that it was under the skilful guidance of Mr. Clements or Mr. Bolton; but our coachee was the very pink and pattern of what a coachman ought to be:-so polite-so genteel-so clever; that it was quite a pleasure, (if we had not been so abominably squeezed) to sit behind him. Well, sir, now suppose us all seating ourselves-I sat just behind the coachman-I do not like to be the outside one of four, in front; so I got a slender gentleman, in black, not seemingly too much encumbered with clothes, between me and the iron. Next to me, on the other flank, a huge pile of great coats kept a place for a third passenger, and beyond them sat the fourth, a French gentleman, with a fierce pair of moustaches. "Bring out the ladder, George," cries coachee. ward. You have kept his place, I hope. "Yes sir," said George," there's his great coat."

"Mr. Squash rides for

"Take care, sir. Do'nt hurry, sir-there!. step there!"

"Aye, aye," growled out a huge mass of human flesh, with a great apoplectic head, which, with no small horror, we beheld grunting and labouring the ladder, to occupy the vacant place. When he had squeezed past the Frenchman's knees-"Just help me on with my great coat," said he, " for it's a sharpish day."

up

I did so; and, with dismay, observed the increase of the monster's bulk. "I say, coachee !-what do you build your coaches so confoundedly inconvenient for? I can't hardly turn about. Now sir-I'll just trouble you again, to help me on with my box coat. The air is a bit raw, and these clouds look watery."

In despair I hoisted on his shoulders a huge upper Benjamin, with cape over cape, and saw the creature expanding his enormous bulk with another envelope.

"Cursed narrow, gentlemen!" grumbled he, as he squelched his great paunch in between us.

"Sacre!" ejaculated the Frenchman, clapping his hand to his hip bone, as if the iron had broken into it. My neighbour in black responded with a groan, which indicated that he also had suffered pretty sharply from the pressure.

"I hope I han't hurt you, sir," said this leviathan, facetiously, to Mon

sieur, who gave him a look as black as thunder; at which he turned to me"A tight fit, sir! isn't it?"

66

Humph!"

By this time Coachee had mounted the box and seated himself in due form, with the reins in his hand, his nosegay in his button-hole-the very beau ideal of a coachman.

“All right, gentlemen ?”

"All right, sir!" responded George; and off we dashed.

On the box with coachee was seated young Mr. Gingham, a spruce draper, who, whenever he escaped from the counter, affected to be considered a sporting character, or an officer out of uniform.

As soon as we had cleared the Westgate, and got off the stones, coachee, with a roguish leer at my fat neighbour's stomach, asked us if we were "quite comfortable?" and really he was so good humoured, that we could not find it in our hearts to say-no; though my elbows were pinioned down, as close as a culprit's, and the continued wriggling of the Frenchman and the man in black, indicated, pretty plainly, that the contact of iron with flesh and bone, was by no means agreeable. The only one, perhaps, who spoke the truth, was our wedge, whose blubber secured him effectually from all unpleasant pressure.

"O yes!" cried he, " as comfortable as a box of figs."

Coachee grinned.

"A pleasant, good sort of fellow that! isn't he, sir ?" said Squash, addressing himself to me.

"Yes, that he certainly is."

Well, sir, we got on tolerably well-passed Harbledown, and were shaken together into good humour, and something more comfortable than our first position when I perceived Mr. Gingham drag from his coat pocket his cigar box, and make preparations for smoking.

I hate and detest smoking, and verily believe I should have written the "Counter-blast," if King James had not anticipated me. And of all places in the world, there is none in which it is more disagreeable, or a greater nuisance, than on a stage coach.

I therefore eyed these preparations with no small degree of vexation, and I thought Mr. Squash did not seem quite pleased.

"Take a cigar, coachman ?" says Gingham," there's a sharp air!" "Thank you, sir," replied coachee, and then turning round to me "I hope, sir, you have no objection to smoking."

Now coachee, as I have said, was a mighty civil good sort of fellow; so I thought it would be very churlish in me to say "no;" and the consequence was, that in a few minutes, Mr. Gingham, coachee, and the Frenchman were puffing away with all their might I was half suffocated with the detested smoke of tobacco, and in my meditations calculated how long I should have it repeated stale in my clothes. Mr. Squash looked mighty grim, and coughed and wheezed, and gave sundry hints of discomfort, which were quite unheeded, till at last he enjoyed an oblivion, and began to nod.

He had not, however, long enjoyed this, when he gave a sudden start and roar, and ploughing his elbows up my side and that of the Frenchman, began scratching most furiously at his left ear.

"Sacre! Diable! Qu'est que c'est ?" exclaimed the Frenchman, who had been all but knocked off the coach, by the start and plunge of Mr. Squash's

elbow.

"The Devil take your cigar !" roared the enraged Squash," the cursed sparks of it have blown into my ear, and burnt a hole half through it.” "I beg your pardon, sir," said Gingham.

Old Squash grumbled out some unintelligible answer, and after muttering some time, began to compose himself off for another nap.

I confess I was malicious enough to chuckle at Squash's disaster, who had been the source of much annoyance to me. But I was not long permitted

to triumph over him. We drove at a brisk pace, and the draught of the coach, together with a slanting wind, sent a continued shower of sparks towards us, as the smouldering portions of cigar were blown off. The gentleman in black, by his occasional winces, shewed that some of these had penetrated his inexpressibles-and as he seemed not to be troubled with drawers, or other nether garments, had directly twitched his flesh. At length, one of these abominable sparks flew directly into my right eye, and not only inflicted intolerable pain at the time, but caused an injury, from the effects of which I was not relieved for nearly a week. The whole of the journey I was compelled to sit with my handkerchief applied to one eye, and the other so much affected, that I was fain to close it. Thus we proceeded towards Chatham, and, from time to time, I thought I smelt a strong whiff of burned woollen, mingled with the fumes of tobacco. This grew stronger and stronger, and, as we got to the bottom of Chatham Hill, seemed to disturb even the snoring Mr. Squash.

"Confound it!" he growled out. "What a stink! Is the gentleman smoking quills or horsehair? it be ?"

What an intolerable stink! What can

He snuffed to the right, and snuffed to the left. Still the stink seemed everywhere.

"What a stink!" he cried again, turning to the Frenchman.

you smell a horrid stink?"

"Steenk! Non Sare! me smell no steenk !"

And well he might not, for he was to windward of him.

"

"Don't

"Then you've got no nose," muttered Squash, and addressing me— "don't you smell it, Sir?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, "I certainly do."

By this time we had reached the Silver Oar, and drew up to change horses. "We stop here ten minutes," says Coachee : "won't you like to alight?" "O, yes,” replied Squash, "if it is only to get out of this cursed stink." He began to alight;-but as he descended the ladder, the capes of his coat were blown over by a puff of wind.

"Bless me, Sir," said the waiter, who was assisting him-" what a pity that such a capital coat should be so moth-eaten. I can see through it in fifty places."

"What!" growled Squash. "My coat moth-eaten? You rascal! why that is impossible. It is quite new!"

“I do not know, Sir," said the waiter," whether it is new or not—but I can see through the capes in fifty places."

"The devil you do!" said Squash, holding up one of the capes, and to his dismay and indignation, discovered that it was full of small holes. He was quite at a loss to account for this-when the stink again whiffed across his nose and the truth at once flashed upon his mind. It was the effect of the sparks of the cigars, which had settled among his voluminous capes.

Gingham, who was standing by, burst into a laugh at the discovery, and roused old Squash's ire to the utmost.

"You grinning jackanapes!" cried he, "with your puppy practice of smoking, and aping the fooleries of your betters. You have spoiled my best Benjamin, and I'll be hanged if I don't spoil you!" He suited the action to the word, and, if Gingham had not bolted under the coach, would have knocked him down like a sledge hammer.

Coachee, hearing of the disaster, came out; and by his civility and promise that there should be no more smoking, appeased his wrath.

However, both Squash and I agreed, that as in the steamers there is no smoking allowed abaft the paddle-box, so there ought to be none, except on the hind seat of the coach. We mean to petition the reformed House of Commons, whose legislation is so famous for ending in smoke, to take this grievance into consideration, and to enact that a seat shall be attached to the hinder part of every coach, to be called the smoking or puffing seat,

in which smokers may sit with their backs to the horses-and thus puff only themselves and that if the coachman must smoke, he shall wear a tin chimney over his head, of sufficient height, to carry smoke and sparks clear of his passengers.

I am, Sir,

ANTI-PUFF.

P.S. I had just finished this when I saw, in one of the London papers, the following additional particulars of the affair of the Exeter coach. Good God! Mr. Oldcastle, are his Majesty's lieges to run the risk of being blown up, in this sort of way? The Parliament must interfere! Surely, it is a matter as deserving of their legislative wisdom, as the act they have passed to prevent chimney sweepers from crying" sweep!"

The recent accident by fire to the Defiance Exeter coach, turns out to have been of a much more serious and perilous nature than was at first represented. It seems that, on the occasion in question, a passenger, when near Basingstoke, dropped the tinder with which he had lighted a cigar into the boot, in consequence of which the parcels became ignited, and goods to the amount of 40l. were either destroyed or rendered useless. After the fire was supposed to have been extinguished, the parcels were replaced in the boot, and not until the coach had proceeded two stages further on its journey, did one of the passengers recollect, that in his hat-box were two pounds of gunpowder! The coachman again stopped, and on re-examining the parcels found that the fire was not totally extinguished, but that in a short time the powder would have exploded and blown up the coach!

ISAAC OF WILEICA AND REBECCA HIS DAUGHTER.

CHAPTER I.

Agitated with fearful anxiety, and full of apprehension, the inhabitants of Wileica, a small town in Lithuania, stood at their doors, listening to the report of cannon, which, at longer and longer intervals, betokened the conclusion of a sanguinary conflict. During the whole day, the thunder of artillery had been rolling near Borisow, on the other side of the hills that bounded the plain, covered with snow. The sun, blood red as the field over which it was declining, was sinking below the horizon; and it's last, faint beams, were tremblingly reflected by the brilliant, icy particles, formed by the congealed breath of the alarmed listeners, which hovered in the air. The evening was calm; the sky serene; but, in the direction where the battle had been raging, solitary clouds of smoke hung, like a canopy, over thousands who, mangled and in torture, were gasping in the pangs of dissolution.

Some few of the citizens, more resolute than the rest, had ventured forth from the town, wrapped up in their furs, listening intently to ascertain the direction which the thunder of the artillery was taking; and now and then, by looks and gestures, imparting to each other their hopes and apprehensions. Hitherto, as far as the eye could reach, nothing was seen to move, while the firing of the cannon gradually subsided, so that not a sound disturbed the still evening twilight; save, occasionally, the rushing noise of the near pine forest, occasioned by the falling of masses of snow from the sinking boughs, or the hoarse barking of the wolf, through its reedy morasses, prowling towards the field of slaughter, which promised a grim repast.

Consoled by these appearances, the stragglers now returned from their posts to their homes, in order to impart to their fellow-citizens and families the glad tidings, that they need no longer be under any apprehension of a visit from the hostile troops, who, probably, had retired on the main road to Wilna. However welcome this intelligence was to all, by no one was it hailed with more transport than by Isaac, the Jew. He stood in the balcony