New Monthly Magazine.
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.
AMERICAN TRAVELLING.
June 7th, at three in the morning, the steam-boat (which was of immense size, and on the high pressure system) arrived at Albany, having come one hundred and sixty miles in seventeen hours, including stoppages. I found that, unluckily, the mail-coach had left the place just before our arrival, so I booked myself in an accommodation-stage, which was to reach Boston (a distance of one hundred and sixty miles) in three days, and entered the wretched-looking vehicle, with a heavy heart, at eight o'clock.... The machine in which I travelled was slow and crowded. The proprietor had undertaken to let us rest at night on the road; but we found that his notions of rest were very imperfect, and that his night was one of the polar regions.—Having partaken of a wretched dinner at Sand Lake, we arrived about one in the morning at Cheshire, where we were to sleep.
By dint of most active exertion, I secured a bed to myself, the narrow dimensions of which precluded the possibility of participation, and plunged into it with all possible haste, as there was not a moment to be lost. Secure in "single blessedness," I was incredibly amused at the compliments of nocturnal arrangement which passed around me among my Yankee companions. They were nine in number, and occupied by triplets the three other beds which the room contained. Whether it was with a view of preserving their linen unrumpled, or of enjoying greater space, I cannot tell; but certain it is, that they divested themselves of clothing to a degree not generally practised in Europe. A spirit of accommodation appeared to prevail; and it seemed to be a matter of indifference whether to occupy the lateral portions of the bed, or the warmer central position, except in one instance, where a gentleman protested against being placed next to the wall, as he was in the habit of chewing tobacco in his sleep!
At four o'clock in the morning we again set off, and, as much rain had fell in the night, the roads were in a dreadful state. The coach company now consisted of nine passengers inside, one on the top, (which, from its convex form, is a very precarious situation,) and three on the box, besides the coachman, who sat on the knees of the unfortunate middle man,—an uneasy burden, considering the intense heat of the weather.
It matters little to the American driver where he sits; he is indeed, in all respects, a far different personage from his great-coated prototype in England. He is in general extremely dexterous in the art of driving, though his costume is of a most grotesque description. Figure to yourself a slipshod sloven, dressed in a striped calico jacket and an old straw hat, alternately arranging the fragile harness of his horses, and springing again upon his box with surprising agility; careless of the bones of his passengers, and confident in his skill and resources, he scruples not frequently to gallop his coach over corderoy roads, (so called from being formed of the trunks of trees laid transversely,) or dash it round corners, and through holes that would appal the heart of the stoutest English coachman, however elated by gin, or irritated by opposition. I was once whirled along one of these roads, when the leathers, (barbarous substitutes for springs,) which supported the carriage gave way with a sudden shock. The undaunted driver instantly sprang from his box, tore a stake from a rail fence by the road-side, laid it across under the body of the coach, and was off again before I properly recovered the use of my senses, which were completely bewildered by the jolting I had undergone. I can compare it to nothing but the butt of Regulus, without the nails. When the lash and butt-end of the whip fail him, he does not scruple to use his foot, as the situation of his seat allows the application of it to his wheelers.
We dined at New Salem at six, and arrived at Petersham, where we were to sleep, at twelve o'clock at night, having been twenty hours coming sixty miles.