GOING BY COACH: BOOKING OFFICES 



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minutes at a time, and start up suddenly from 

 a terrific dream of a large church clock Avith 

 the small hand running round, with astonishing 

 rapidity, to every figure on the dial-plate. At 

 last, completely exhausted, you fall gradually into 

 a refreshing sleep — your thoughts grow confused — 

 the stage-coaches, which have been 'going off' 

 before your eyes all night, become less and less 

 distinct, until they go off altogether ; one moment 

 you are driving with all the skill and smartness of 

 an experienced whip — the next you are exhibiting 

 a la Ducrow on the off leader; anon you are 

 closely muffled up, inside, and have just recog- 

 nised in the person of the guard an old school- 

 fellow whose funeral, even in your dream, you 

 remember to have attended eighteen years ago. 

 At last you fall into a state of complete oblivion, 

 from which you are aroused, as if into a new state 

 of existence, by a singular illusion. You are 

 apprenticed to a trunk-maker ; how, or why, or 

 when, or wherefore, you don't take the trouble 

 to inquire ; but there you are, pasting the lining 

 in the lid of a portmanteau. Confound that other 

 apprentice in the back-shop, how he is hammering ! 

 — rap, rap, rap — what an industrious fellow he 

 must be ! you have heard him at Avork for half 

 an hour past, and he has been hammering inces- 

 santly the whole time. Rap, rap, rap, again — he's 

 talking now — Avhat's that he said ? Pive o'clock ! 

 You make a violent exertion, and start up in 

 bed. The vision is at once dispelled ; the trunk- 

 maker's shop is your own bedroom, and the other 



